Wonderfully Inappropriate
by Wicked.Intentions
Summary: Nazi Zombies, the One-Shot Collection! Various tales of four men trying to get through a zombie invasion in any way possible.
1. Unrequited Lust, Tank and Richtofen

**Disclaimer:** _Call of Duty: World at War_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** _Unrequited Lust_.

**Summary:** Tank is irresistibly attracted to the doctor despite his unwillingness to participate.

**Pairings:** Non-consensual Tank Dempsey/Edward Richtofen, implied future Tank/Zombie.

**Notes:** I decided to group all my one-shots into a single story for organization, and if I decide to add more, they will be additional chapters to this story. You will find pairings of all kinds here. Each one-shot has been thoroughly proof-read and most likely touched up a bit, since a lot of them are old stories.

* * *

Richtofen's mouth fell open in a moment of surrender, a strangled pleasured noise escaping him, before he bit it off by gritting his teeth and refusing to voice his desires. He felt war-roughened hands grip his hips brutally, steering him backwards towards a nearby wall. His teeth rattled and his vision spotted momentarily when his molester slammed him up against the metal structure.

His hat was knocked off of his head carelessly; his tie was tugged at, dislodging it from its neat position; a couple of the top buttons to his orderly uniform were nearly torn out; his once carefully polished boots were scuffed from being dragged around during the doctor's manhandling.

"Doc," Tank panted, burying his face in the other man's neck, his hands cupping firm buttocks.

Richtofen squeezed his eyes shut, and his arms remained stubbornly at his sides. He hoped that if he refused to participate, Dempsey would become bored and go away.

The American soldier pressed himself fully against the hard body of the German, removing any and all space that was between them. He initiated a passionate, rough kiss, plunging his tongue into the Nazi's mouth and sliding it against his with a hurried sloppiness. His lips captured Richtofen's upper lip between them, and he sucked lightly on it, increasing the pressure with which he squeezed the man's lower cheeks. He just couldn't take his hands off them.

"_Vhat_…" Richtofen gasped when they parted for air, "are you doing?"

Tank ignored him and instead forced the Nazi's muscular thigh up and around his waist so that he could begin to properly rut against the hesitant man. Richtofen became wide open and vulnerable to the pleasure that Tank was willing to give to him, and it was apparent by the groans he couldn't silence that he was enjoying it.

The air became heavy with the sounds of the two men panting for air that they couldn't replenish fast enough between saliva-slickened kisses and the groans they couldn't help but voice when Tank rolled his hips against Richtofen's.

At long last, the Nazi willed the muscles of his arms to contract and drag his arms upwards to push away the eager American, a string of saliva lewdly connecting their lips together even after they parted. His head fell back against the wall, and he watched with half-lidded eyes in a haze as Tank glared at him, not content with this interruption at all.

Tank refused to put distance between their groins, which were flush together and straining within the confines of the men's trousers. His hands didn't leave the backside that had no doubt been bruised by his enthusiastic squeezing.

"Explain… yourself, American…" Richtofen muttered darkly, so angry he could barely get his words out, turning his head to the side when Tank neared him to silence him with another clash of their mouths. He felt his lips collide with his sharp, hollow cheekbone, and a tongue snaked its way across the taut skin while teeth lightly raked in its path.

With an annoyed sigh, Tank ceased his movements and released the flesh that was cupped in his hands. With a flash of annoyance and embarrassment, Richtofen realized that his leg was still wrapped snugly around the man's waist and let it drop back down below them, choosing not to stomp on the other man's boots yet.

Tank didn't meet his eyes and instead took a step back, threading a hand through his hair distractedly.

"Vhy have you done zhis?" Richtofen pressed, crossing his arms and staring the American down with ill-restrained fury.

"I dunno," Tank responded sheepishly. He mimicked the doctor by crossing his arms defensively as well.

The doctor rolled his eyes at that. He should have expected such reasoning from the man. He fidgeted in place. Damn, he was so painfully hard after that, and it was obvious by the way his pants were jutting outwards.

"Look, how 'bout we… skip the talking and get on with it?" Tank suggested almost pleadingly, moving forward once again to reach for the Nazi. He roped his arms around his waist and tugged him towards him. He leaned in to initiate another violent kiss.

Richtofen reacted by throwing his head back.

Tank growled and chose to just make do with what he could reach. He sucked the man's Adam's apple into his mouth, and his tongue wormed around it, leaving wet warmth behind. Richtofen squirmed in unwanted delight at these sensations, finding his neck to be particularly sensitive to the advances. His hands shot up and went to Tank's chest to push him away, but he found himself hesitating despite his inner voices screaming out in protest.

"I do not understand," Richtofen ground out. "Ve're both _men_, ve're _soldiers_, ve're—"

"—_I'm_ so fuckin' hard right now," Tank interrupted him with a snarl, wishing for something to gag the object of his lust. He surged forward and ground an engorged part of his anatomy against the wriggling doctor for emphasis. "What, do I have to talk dirty to ya or somethin' first?"

Richtofen flushed at that, and he nearly gave an affirmation because it sounded so tempting. "Nein, I… Can't you find somezhing—err, _someone_ else to do zhis to?"

"If you're suggesting that I get one of those freakbags and put my—"

"—Nein, I didn't mean _zhat!_ I mean, vhy _me?_ Vhy _now?_"

"Does it really matter?" Tank groaned, hating every second he didn't have that ass in his hands.

"I don't know about zhis… I need to go zhink."

Tank let out a noise of anger and released the man. He took his place leaning on a nearby wall and gave the German man a dirty, yet longing, look. He undid his pants hurriedly.

Richtofen's brow twitched, and he averted his eyes before he was met with the sight of a very large part of the American. He wordlessly took his leave, fleeing the area to find somewhere quiet and to himself. However, he knew he'd run into the American again sometime later; it was inevitable.

* * *

Tank was experiencing a dilemma. Instead of his usual mental fantasies of large-breasted, nude women at his feet, he found that a rather sadistic, unstable Nazi doctor had taken their places. The man would not leave his head, and it was becoming a bit of a problem when he was in the middle of ripping apart a zombie with his Bowie knife and his lower half suddenly sprang upwards when the doctor fell against him after being charged by a zombie of his own.

All he could think about was bending that cruel man over something and shoving himself deep inside him again and again until he found that sweet release within him, showering the walls snugly gripping him with his seed.

Tank groaned out loud when his thought process became significantly more perverted, and his body responded accordingly. He crossed his arms and sulked instead of taking care of it. Currently, he was leaning against a railing near the Pack-a-Punch weapon upgrade machine, the other men on their ways over to where he was stationed.

Just then, Takeo made his appearance and greeted him with a slight, respectful bow. Tank grunted, nodding at him in acknowledgement.

Nikolai bounded into the mainframe like a happy puppy, sporting a couple new bloodstains on his military uniform. He was grinning from ear to ear, no doubt ready to share some stories of his slaughter upon the undead hordes.

Richtofen entered last, prim and proper, sporting a spotless uniform. Tank tensed immediately.

"Vell, ve have survived yet anozher day, ja?" he announced once he had joined them in the center of the mainframe. He smirked. "Are zhere any of you zhat need tending to?" He was referring to wounds that could threaten them, of course, but Tank spotted this as an opportunity to get him alone.

"Yeah, Doc, I think I was bitten by one of those freakbags," Tank lied, grasping his ribs with a hand, pretending to clutch it in pain.

Richtofen appeared a bit uncomfortable when Tank spoke to him, but nonetheless, he nodded, motioning for the American to follow him back to where he kept his meager medical supplies. He paused, arching an eyebrow at the Russian and the Japanese. "Are you two vell?"

"Yeah, yeah." Nikolai waved a dismissive hand. "This blood is not mine. It belong to zombie!" He laughed boisterously.

The Japanese soldier spun around on his heel, showing the doctor that he was indeed unharmed and ready for more zombies.

"Very vell." Richtofen exited the mainframe with an aroused Tank in tow.

Nikolai opened his mouth and out came a flurry of words describing in great detail his headshots and the sprays of blood he had let loose from their enemies to an exasperated Takeo.

* * *

"All right, vhere does it hurt?" Richtofen inquired, turning to Tank when they had reached a stash of supplies in Teleporter A Room.

Tank grinned lecherously. He stalked forward towards the Nazi, reaching for his hand. Seizing the man's wrist in a firm grip, he led it down to his groin and pressed the palm tightly against his erection. "Right about there, Doc. Do somethin' about it, will ya?"

Richtofen furrowed his brow, trying to snatch his hand back, but Tank was persistent. "Vhat zhe hell do you vantme to do about zhat?"

"I got a few ideas…"

"I bet you do." He gave the man a wary look.

Tank forced Richtofen to grip his straining flesh through his trousers. "C'mon, Doc, help a man out here."

"Zhis is so vrong," the doctor muttered in defeat. His temples pounded with a worsening headache. "If I do zhis, vill you go away?"

"Sure."

Hesitating, Richtofen moved a little closer to the man, sliding his hand upwards to the hem of his pants. The hand dove down into the pants and was met with undergarments, which were also penetrated. Richtofen wrapped his hand securely around the naked, warm organ and jerked his hand upwards and downwards mechanically. His eyes burned holes in the wall behind Tank.

"It's too dry," Tank complained through gritted teeth. As good as it felt having the Nazi willingly get him off, he needed lubrication. He jerked slightly in the man's grip when he thought about him on his knees servicing him.

"Too bad."

The American's hand came to rest atop Richtofen's shoulder in response.

The Nazi was caught off guard when the eager hand shoved him down into a kneeling position, his kneecaps meeting the cement floor with an agonizing crack. He hissed in pain.

Tank wriggled out of his restricting clothing, freeing himself. He immediately pulled Richtofen forward by a fistful of his hair and thrust between his wet lips, letting out a particularly satisfied moan at the sensations surrounding him. He vaguely heard and mostly felt him gag.

Continuing to guide the doctor by his hair, he ripped his head back and pulled it forward, forcing him into the movements that would provide the most pleasure for the greedy American. Loud groans filled the room. Tank gasped out obscenities, forcing himself down the throat of the struggling Nazi, who gripped his pants, his eyes squeezed shut.

It felt better than Tank could have ever imagined. Sure, he had had his fair share of blowjobs in his life—but there was just something about Richtofen doing it that made him dizzy and his knees shake. He wound a thick forearm around the Nazi's head, rutting his hips back and forth in time with his own harsh pants.

Finally, Richtofen found the momentum to propel himself backwards onto the floor and out of the grip of the aroused Marine. He gagged, saliva and pre-ejaculatory fluids dripping down his chin. He clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from vomiting up the contents of his stomach. "B-bastard," he choked out.

Uncaring that he was exposed, Tank took a few steps forward to tower over the doctor, a look of threatening hunger on his face. He was trying to make it clear that it was impossible to deny him what he wanted. "You're not done."

Richtofen glared his fiercest up at the American, daring him to try something.

And try something, he did. Tank bent over and grabbed the man's knees, forcing his legs apart, lowering himself between them, laying on top of him to keep him into place.

"Vhat are you doing?" Richtofen cried out, his voice high-pitched with his nervousness. "Get off!"

"I intend to," the American told him lecherously, a smirk curling his lips. He pressed his erection against the doctor's clothed backside and began to thrust roughly, imitating the act of sex, making Richtofen protest in that high-pitched voice of his that was strangely erotic to hear.

Tank knew he was seriously messed up for doing this, but he couldn't force himself to stop. He just wanted to remove all of their clothing and do this for real. Something told him that the Nazi wouldn't let him accomplish that without an extremely violent fight, though.

Richtofen flailed his arms, calling out in German to his Führer for forgiveness for not resisting the homosexuality more, trying to ignore the feeling of Tank nearly violating him. In a burst of inspiration, he then wrapped his legs around the American's waist and flipped them so that he was seated on top of Tank.

Tank blinked at this new development but decided that the other man being on top was kinky and to his liking as well.

"I zhink you should find somezhing else to help you vith your little problem," Richtofen grumbled, clearing his aching throat noisily—that high-pitched shrieking of his was something he couldn't help when he became distressed or excited, but it certainly didn't help his vocal folds.

Tank's cheerful disposition dropped, and he glowered. He didn't want to admit it in front of the man and out loud, but… "I don't want anything else. I want _you_, Richtofen," he insisted.

"Vhat about… zhe Russian?" Richtofen could have punched himself for contributing to this madness, but he had to get rid of the horny American. He couldn't work in such tense conditions.

"Nikolai?"

Tank sputtered in laughter. "Fuck no!"

"Zhe Ja—"

"Don't even _think_ about suggestin' the Jap."

Richtofen again tried to soothe his aching forehead. "You vill have to find somezhing else. I refuse to be your playzhing."

"Well, let's see here. What else here is thin, at one point a soldier, and a Nazi?" he inquired sarcastically.

As if on cue, a zombie clambered up towards a nearby window and clawed at the barricade with hands that were more bone than flesh, letting out a shiver-inducing growl. Its SS uniform, though torn and bloody, included a Swastika armband that was relatively unharmed, clearly displaying it as at one point a Nazi soldier.

Richtofen and Tank stared at it in contemplative silence as it tore board after board down, pausing after a couple to grab at its wildly-jerking head, its gaping mouth spilling blood down its front grotesquely.

"Well…" Tank sighed, "alcohol's never failed me before. So… what the hell? I'll tie it down and give it a shot."


	2. Absolute Necessity, Tank and Nikolai

**Disclaimer:** _Call of Duty: World at War_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** _Absolute Necessity_.

**Summary:** Tank ponders Nikolai's relationship with his vodka.

**Pairing:** Tank Dempsey/Nikolai Belinski.

* * *

"Out of all of the things you could need in a wasteland like this, why did you choose vodka?" Tank shot this question out of irritation at Nikolai suddenly one day, forcing him from his hourly guzzling of the alcoholic beverage with a decidedly slow lick of his lips.

"Why not?" Nikolai replied with equal disdain immediately, collecting the precious drops from his lips with a final swipe of his tongue. He let out a sigh, and settled back against the wall he was leaning on. He felt a pleasant warmth overcome his weary body in a way nothing else could ever compete with.

"Normal people would worry about… fuckin'… food… or toilet paper…" Tank's eyes screwed up in thought as he named off the very few items that held significance with him.

"Vodka is all the food this Soviet needs," he was told rather sagely despite it not making much sense. "And toilet paper... what do you think 'important documents' of Nazi are for?"

Tank nodded absentmindedly, scratching the side of his chin. It was true. Richtofen would be extremely pissed if he knew that his research was not only ruined in the path of the rampaging zombies and instead, also used to wipe up shit, but who really cared about what that bastard thought? In his opinion, it was the best use for something written in the language of the Nazis. Go America.

"Anyway, this vodka tasted better when you were not here. Leave me and my vodka in peace." The Russian waved a dismissive hand, losing his balance briefly before leaning steadily once again. He was situated near the window that opened at the Juggernog machine, which saved their asses on a daily basis. The boards were freshly repaired on the window, nailed in drunkenly by Nikolai, who boasted to be quite the carpenter. He was currently drinking his relaxation period away happily until the next horde swarmed them and they were forced to retreat back to their respective zombie-slaughtering locations.

Tank, who was not at all keen to being dismissed so easily, stubbornly held his position near the intoxicated soldier. "Yeah? Well, too fuckin' bad. I'm stayin'."

Nikolai let out a long, suffering sigh and flung an arm over his eyes. "Is time for resting and gathering strength until we are—how you say—'swamped with the freakbags' again. This is not my idea of resting." He directed a droopy-eyed glare at Tank from under the cloth of his sleeve, lifting his bottle in preparation for another swig of his drink.

Tank's hand shot out and gripped firmly onto the bottle, struggling to slip it from the other man's grasp.

However, the man clung possessively to the bottle like it was his lifeline. "What the fuck!" burst out of Nikolai's mouth in obvious protest to this change of events. "Get your own vodka!"

"I don't have any of this shit; just let me see it for a minute!"

"Give it back, American, or you will become intimate with Nikolai's weapon soon!"

"Yeah? Try it, and you'll meet the same end!"

Both men, one of their hands unrelenting on the bottle and the other inching toward their idle weapons at their sides, bared teeth threateningly at each other.

"Vhy not fight to zhe death for it?" a passing Richtofen supplied unhelpfully, arms full of MP40s and respective magazines, before continuing up the staircase towards the weapons box's current location. They heard a rather disturbing chortle escape the unstable man, bouncing off of the bare walls encompassing the staircase and towards their sensitive ears.

As if linked in their thoughts, they rolled their eyes simultaneously and muttered distastefully, "Fucking Nazi…" They shared a painfully awkward chuckle following a slight pause.

Nikolai took this moment to wrench his precious alcohol from the greedy fingers of the American and deposit it in a special holster on his belt. This was a necessity for any Russian, as just evidenced.

Tank stepped back and crossed his burly arms over his chest, eyeing the holster with a critical eye. "I don't suppose they ever taught you manners in the Old Country?"

"Could say same thing about you and your own country."

The American grumbled, uncrossing his arms and fingering at the trigger of his MG42 longingly. "Fine. I'll leave you alone. For now." He turned and left to a noise of victory from the Russian and the gleeful words, "I think Nikolai just won great battle over American!"

* * *

A couple weariness-inducing hordes of zombies later, and the air having finally cleared of the extensive amounts of testosterone being released through egotistical comments from each nationality trying to gain dominance over the others, they loosened their death grips on the weapons that allowed them to live again and met in the mainframe to prove that they had all survived.

Richtofen, emanating creepiness from every pore, did nothing of the sort, scanning his medical-experienced eyes over his comrades, hoping to find one of them too injured to continue. He longed to aim his beloved Wunderwaffe DG-2 at one of them to "put them out of their misery," though it was agreed among them all that an electrical death would not be one of quick painlessness.

Unfortunately for him and fortunately for the others, none of them were too battered that they could not patch themselves up (or with the help of him, as he _was_ a doctor) and return later for more ripping up of undead, putrid flesh with bullets of lead or electricity.

"You all look fine," Richtofen decided outwardly, taking his leave with a jerky nod of his head. He descended the staircase that led to the area where the others were stationed in front of the Pack-a-Punch machine and teleporter and ascended the steps to the right, disappearing behind open doors in the dim lighting towards Teleporter B Room.

Takeo bowed to them both respectfully. "I thank you for yet another successful survival against our vast number of enemies." He chose to go the opposite way the doctor had, taking his route through the Animal Testing Lab.

Having fought on separate teams, Tank with Richtofen and Nikolai with Takeo, they had not seen each other for quite some time. Nikolai had long since forgotten their little altercation earlier and cheerfully ranted about the kills he had achieved. Regretfully, he added that he might need to replace his PPSh-41 soon due to the lack of ammunition for it.

Tank patted his recently upgraded MG42 with a cheeky grin. "I still got plenty of ammo left for this baby."

The Red Army soldier shrugged nonchalantly. "No worry. Nikolai shall get another PPSh-41 in no time."

Chattering on about weapons and whatnot, they soon realized that they were spending their resting period with _each other_. In the _mainframe_.

"Well, Nikolai has other thing to attend to," Nikolai broke through the silence, clearly speaking of his need to become pleasantly buzzed once again.

Tank turned his attention to the bottle of vodka still swinging at his side. He nodded in understanding, watching as the man took his leave through the Animal Testing Lab.

Oh, no, he wasn't giving up that easily just yet.

* * *

Nikolai let out a relieved sigh as he looked around the large room that was protected with solid fencing. The Teleporter C Room loomed gravely above him, a neon blue, glowing Swastika visible through the grimy, glass-less windows from the balcony he was situated on. He leaned forward against the railing of the balcony, staring fixedly on the oppressive symbol, lost in thought.

He vaguely registered footsteps rebounding to his left, but he paid no heed to them. However, when the footsteps quickened into a dead run, his attention was diverted from the Swastika to where whomever was advancing quickly towards him. He barely had time to comprehend the blur of green before he was tackled roughly to the metal grating of the balcony, the jagged parts of it digging up into his spine through his heavy military-issued clothing.

He groaned loudly in pain, rubbing the back of his head, which had smacked soundly against the structure, causing lights to burst in front of his vision temporarily. "What… the fuck?" he ground out, struggling to focus on the shape positioned just above him, harboring a decidedly smug grin that could only belong to a certain American.

"Hey, asshole, you wanna share your vodka with me yet?" Tank inquired, leaning down to peer at him scrutinizingly. "I didn't kill you with that awesome move, did I?"

"Ugh, goddamn… American," Nikolai gurgled through his pain-induced haze. He suddenly felt hands groping around his waist for the bottle of vodka that had surprisingly not shattered with the impact of the fall the soldier had taken. He panicked and his hands shot out, gripping the upper arms of the other man, pushing him away with all his might.

Tank remained firm in his spot, straddling him tightly like a horse. "Stop bein' difficult. I won't drink it all."

"Nyet!" Nikolai exclaimed, feeling his bottle loosen with the efforts of Tank. He bucked his hips wildly, struggling to unseat the weight atop him. He wriggled desperately away from the wandering hands, which were suddenly not near the vodka bottle any longer.

They froze in horror, realizing that Tank's hands were planted on his groin.

"What the … hell… are you doing?" Nikolai spat out confusedly. "Get your hands off!"

"Oh, c'mon, it's not like I tried to grab your crotch. If you hadn't been moving all over the place, my hands wouldn't have ended up there." Tank made no effort to move his hands. In fact, a rather devious smile crawled into place on his rugged face.

Fingers dug into the fabric of his pants, and Nikolai panicked further. The curious digits made contact with a very intimate part of him, and he bit his lip until it bled as his groin stirred in his arousal. Still, he continued to fight. He threw his weight against the American, desiring the dislodgement of the man.

When a nimble, strong hand dove into his pants and wrapped around that slightly aroused part of him, he opened his mouth and instead of exploding into a frenzy of Russian swear words like he had hoped he would, he let out a rather unmanly groan, twisting his hips upwards in encouragement unwillingly.

His vision was filled with the sight of that cocky, knowing smile of the Marine. "Aha, Nikolai likes?" His grip tightened further, nearly to the point of strangling his organ, and Nikolai was rendered boneless, his vision cloudy. This cloudy was much different from the one he gained from massive consumption of vodka, though, and much different from what he was accustomed to.

The fingers slid upward in a near-stroke, giving him a teasing spark of pleasure before the hand withdrew from the confines of his trousers completely. Nikolai found himself immediately lacking the proximity of a certain American, as well as his precious bottle of vodka.

He watched in unrestrained fury as Tank took a swig from his bottle and promptly spat it out at his feet. The unwanted liquid trickled through the grating of the bridge to the blood-stained cement below.

"Either this is shitty alcohol, or you've backwashed enough for this to not even be considered vodka anymore..." His face contorted with disgust at the thought, and he dropped the bottle on Nikolai, who elicited a sharp exhale at the impact.

"Vodka is not for weak American," Nikolai defended sharply at the retreating, green-clad back.

Tank paused before flashing a toothy grin at him. "But I know what _is_ for this American." He gave him an appraising look, especially at the bulge in his pants tenting upwards at him.

He saluted Nikolai back mockingly. "At ease, soldier."


	3. Odd Ones Out, Nikolai and Takeo

**Disclaimer: **_Call of Duty: Black Ops_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title: **_Odd Ones Out._

**Summary: **Takeo has trouble ridding himself of a pesky Russian.

**Pairings: **Nikolai Belinski/Takeo Masaki, heavily implied Tank Dempsey/Edward Richtofen.

* * *

"Where does Nikolai fit into this?" Nikolai wondered aloud, surveying the scene laid out before him, a bit of loneliness hitting him in the face like an empty vase one of his old wives had once thrown at him right before he ended her life.

Tank was nearly curled up in contentment (not that he would say he was happy where he was—even though he _was_), dealing cards from a stack in his hand like a professional while perched upon a dusty cushioned seat. He didn't even bother looking up at the Russian, as he was too busy counting the right amount to go to both him and his card buddy.

"Vhat?" the Nazi doctor seated opposite Tank questioned with a quirk of his eyebrow. "Oh, sorry. Zhis card game is for two players only. You vill have to vait your turn."

"You have been playing over and over again. When is Nikolai's turn?"

"I ain't done beatin' the Kraut yet," Tank muttered, flicking the last card in Richtofen's direction, ready to begin another rousing game of Speed.

"Ja, mein reflexes are to die for." Richtofen nearly giggled happily. When his amusement subsided, he eyed his opponent critically. "Let's make zhis interesting."

"How so?" Tank perked up. He was always willing to bet.

Richtofen opened his mouth, but because Nikolai was practically hovering over the two of them, he snapped it shut in annoyance. "Do you mind? Ve have terms to discuss." He waved his hand towards the door, dismissing Nikolai rudely.

Crossly, the Russian tugged a bottle of vodka out of the bag on his back and left the room. Faintly, he heard Richtofen say, "If I vin, ve're taking a nice valk out to zhe alleyway..." followed by Tank chuckling darkly and responding, "I want the same thing _when_ I win."

The Soviet soldier shuddered in disgust. The two of them might not have realized it, or perhaps they didn't care, but they weren't the sneakiest with what they do with each other when they think Nikolai and Takeo aren't around.

Takeo. Nikolai wondered where the Japanese man was. He was in need of a drinking buddy, and Takeo was the only one not busy shoving things where things should not be shoved. He was probably... meditating... or something. Maybe.

Nikolai could have searched the entire Nazi theater and not found a single sign of his quiet teammate if it weren't for a stray zombie that had tried to take a rather large bite from the person in question.

"Agh! Dishonorable creature! You will not sneak up on a great warrior such as myself!" Takeo announced (dramatically) over the screeching of an undead monster. The sound of a long sword being unsheathed followed his words, and the satisfying slicing through rotting bones and tissues further followed that.

The Russian grinned in triumph. So zombies were good for something after all.

He took a detour through the dressing room beside the grand stage, rather than continuing out to the horrifying alleyway, as he had planned on doing in his search. He was greeted with the sight of Takeo rubbing a soft, white cloth over the blade of his katana to rid it of any gore.

"Takeo!" Nikolai greeted boisterously, throwing his arms out and walking swiftly towards him.

Takeo barely flinched and chose to cleanse his blade a little while longer, though it was already spotless. "Hai?"

"Come, we will drink and talk of times past, yeah?" Nikolai threw a friendly arm around the somewhat irritated man, beginning to lead him towards a table. He let go of the other soldier and stood the fallen chairs around it up, motioning for him to take a seat on one.

Realizing that he had no other choice, Takeo sighed almost silently and seated himself carefully upon the worn chair closest to him. He watched disinterestedly, sheathing his shining and deadly katana, as Nikolai threw himself onto the chair next to him.

The Soviet slammed the almost full bottle of clear alcohol onto the table between them. "We will share this and talk."

Takeo blinked slowly. He cautiously reached for the vodka that the other man treasured above all other things, almost intimidated by the thought that Nikolai would change his mind and shoot his hand off. He didn't want to feel greedy, so he instead rested his wandering hand on top of the table. "You shall drink first."

Nikolai dipped backwards in his chair, propping his feet loudly on the table. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Nyet, nyet, you drink first."

The Japanese man grasped the bottle firmly, unscrewed the cork from the top, and quickly took a couple sips. He set it back down. He wasn't sure of what to say.

Nikolai eased his worries by swiping the bottle and downing half of it without pausing. "Now let Nikolai tell you something about marriage..."

Takeo sighed again.

* * *

"So then I took shotgun from wall and blew her fucking brains out!" Nikolai barked with laughter, slapping his hand onto the table again and again in his amusement. Tears of mirth dripped from the corners of his eyes.

Takeo cracked a slight smile, his face propped up by his fist. He had only taken one-sixteenth of the vodka that Nikolai had drank, so he wasn't in the least bit drunk. Nikolai, on the other hand, was wasted off of his ass. So drunk was he that he wasn't even trying to say that the death of one of his numerous wives was an accident.

Takeo wasn't very entertained by graphic stories of manslaughter, but he figured he'd humor the Russian for a little while. He didn't seem like the type to enjoy being left alone, like Takeo did.

"I have also maimed a few dear companions of mine," he lied, struggling to add to the one-sided conversation. "I sliced them apart with this very katana." He patted his sword for emphasis.

Nikolai stared at him, glassy-eyed and in awe. "Tell Nikolai everything! Details!"

"...I rammed my blade into their bodies... and blood spilled everywhere. I also saw internal organs make neat piles on the ground," Takeo continued slowly, trying his best to sound enthusiastic and vicious.

The Russian slapped his knee, bursting out in chortles. "That is great! Nikolai likes!" He chugged the last of the vodka from the bottle in his grasp, not bothering to offer any to the bored Japanese soldier. "Well, it is time to be going." He stood up, swaying, and waved farewell to his teammate, going off to find an appropriate place to pass out. He nearly knocked into a very giddy and satisfied Nazi, who had a slight limp, on the way.

Finally, Takeo could have peace.

* * *

Later that day, Takeo had been looking through some important-looking documents on the second floor of the theater. He couldn't read any of them, of course, because he didn't know German, but they looked interesting enough that he considered asking Richtofen to translate them.

There was a good chance that the Nazi would do no such thing, but it didn't hurt to try. He turned on his heel and ran straight into a hard body. He backed off annoyedly, clutching the papers to his chest. He wasn't very surprised to see Nikolai standing before him, a grin upon his lips.

"Takeo!" came the excited greeting once again.

"...Hai?"

"Come, let's drink and have a talk!"

He was steered against his will to the nearest table and forcibly seated. A bottle of vodka was placed in front of him. This was familiar...

"You drink first. Nikolai will share more this time."

"I am not particularly thirsty," Takeo told him. "You shall drink all of it." He pushed the bottle in Nikolai's direction, starting to rise to his feet.

The Russian's large hand came to rest upon Takeo's shoulder, and he was pushed down into the seat wordlessly. The bottle was thrust into his hands, and German papers scattered all around him.

"Drink! I insist!"

Takeo resisted grumbling and uncorked the bottle. He sipped at it expressionlessly. Once he was sure Nikolai was satisfied with how much he had drank, he set the bottle back down onto the table, leaning back in his seat.

Nikolai gave him a happy grin and took his share of the vodka—most of it—right away. He let out a content sigh. "Now, let us discuss war and politics. Share with Nikolai your country's view, and he will do the same."

Takeo cleared his throat. At least this topic he could at least feign interest in.

* * *

War and politics had long since been exhausted by both soldiers. This time, Takeo was a little tipsy, and he swayed back and forth on his chair, dangerously close to falling off.

Nikolai was singing as loud as he could in his native tongue, more than "a little tipsy," as usual. The bottle of alcohol was abandoned at his feet. Not a single drop escaped it, as every drop had been greedily slurped up by the Soviet. He would rather die than waste any precious vodka.

He finished his song with a flourish and collapsed onto the table with a thump. He was completely passed out.

Takeo rose to his feet. He didn't know how much more of this he would have to endure, but he was about to the last that he could handle. Hopefully things wouldn't have to get ugly, and Nikolai would go back to hounding Tank and Richtofen for companionship.

He collected up the German papers that were all over the floor before taking his leave, his steps uneven and heavy. It was much too late to ask Richtofen to translate these, so he would have to tomorrow. If he were lucky, he wouldn't walk in on "Sexy Time, Featuring an Effeminate Nazi and a Macho Marine." He made a face at the thought, but it didn't last long. He wasn't totally disgusted with the idea, if he were completely honest.

* * *

Unfortunately for Takeo, the Nazi was nowhere to be found, so the papers were left disappointingly untranslated. Even the American was quiet and out of the way. It was suspicious, but Takeo knew better than to wonder where they had gone. The alleyway was—for sure—off limits for a while.

He carefully set the stack of documents back where he had found them and made his way towards the grand stage. He intended to find a nice place to sit and polish his katana and have a small meal. He chose a comfortable chair in front of the stage and patted the cushion until the dust had come out of it and cleared from the air. Just as he sat down, he jumped in fright when Nikolai pretty much tackled him.

He lay back in the seat, legs parted, and Nikolai right between them and in his face.

"Takeo!" came the routine greeting.

The Japanese man couldn't bring himself to say anything. He was slightly disturbed by the close proximity of the other man.

"Come, let's drink and talk about—"

"Iie, I refuse."

Nikolai paused in his efforts to remove his teammate from his seat, startled a little by the firm voice that had interrupted him.

"You are smothering me." Takeo let this sink in for a moment before continuing, "I would like to sit here and eat my meal in peace. I neither want to drink nor talk about some unimportant and rather uninteresting topic that you have come up with. I enjoy being by myself, and I do not require your presence for hours of every day."

It was the most Nikolai had ever heard him say, and it was enough to deter him. He backed off wordlessly. That was the last Takeo saw of him for several days.

Takeo was a little concerned that he had been too harsh with his teammate, but he couldn't bring himself to care too much when he had much free time to do what he wished. He didn't want any more vodka, and he didn't want to be dragged against his will into any more boring conversations, as he had said.

Finally, when he was out in the alleyway digging around in the mystery gun box, he had a visitor. He knew that it was safe to be out here because Richtofen and Tank were asleep in the theater. With that said, he knew immediately that it was his Russian teammate.

No enthusiastic "Takeo!" burst from the lips of Nikolai. He stood tall and intimidating over the Japanese man, frowning.

Nonetheless, Takeo felt that he had to ask, "Hai?"

"Have sex with Nikolai."

Takeo was taken aback. He carefully set down the Galil he had been toying with and stared into the depths of the mystery box. He wasn't sure he had heard the other soldier correctly, so he remained quiet for a moment until Nikolai repeated himself.

"I do not understand."

"What is there to understand?" Nikolai waved his hand. "Dempsey and Richtofen do it all the time. I just saw them doing it. Let us join in."

Takeo thought about it. His afternoon was not really filled with anything else. He did plan to ask Richtofen about those papers... but he was always either sleeping or having rigorous sex with the American. ...Why wasn't he disgusted with the thought of having intercourse with the large Russian? It must have been something in that vodka.

He stood from the box, dusting at his flawless uniform in self-consciousness. Nikolai was still standing over him, waiting for some type of response.

"I accept your offer," Takeo said after a great silence. He awkwardly waited for Nikolai to make the first move. He wasn't sure how to proceed with this.

With a slightly more predatory than usual grin, Nikolai stepped closer to his new bed partner. He shoved him backwards against the wall, covering the Japanese man easily with his large body. His lips pressed against the thin ones that slightly opened when they were being kissed roughly.

He felt Takeo exhale shakily against his mouth and wrapped a hand around his waist. With his other hand, he forced a leg up and around his own waist so he could press fully against the soldier. He kissed the parted lips once, twice, thrice. "Nikolai will be gentle..."

"That is not what Dempsey says to Dr. Richtofen," Takeo reminded him a little annoyedly. "I am not some woman. Fuck me like I am an honorable man!"

"Really? With you making demands while being on bottom, you sure sound like one." Nikolai chuckled, squeezing one of Takeo's tight buttocks. He was happy to feel the other man swelling slightly against his hip.

"...I will change my mind about letting you do this."

"Oh, shut the hell up, and take your clothes off. Or I get bottle of vodka to speed this up."

Takeo promptly shut the hell up.


	4. Hate, Nikolai and Richtofen

**Disclaimer:** _Call of Duty: World at War_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:**_ Hate._

**Summary:** Richtofen and Nikolai love to argue hatefully.

**Story Pairing:** Edward Richtofen/Nikolai Belinski.

* * *

Nikolai eyed Richtofen, who was several feet away from him, firing away with his upgraded MP40 at zombies that charged him. The four soldiers were in a circular formation, each watching a different angle so every base was covered. The Russian hurriedly reloaded his PPSh-41 and rapidly fired at the zombies surrounding him, satisfaction building when every kill was a headshot. Was there nothing he could not do?

Once again, the Russian's eyes strayed to Richtofen, glaring at the back of his head. _Fucking Nazi._

He let out an involuntary gasp when he realized that a zombie had grabbed a hold of him, and its putrid mouth was descending upon him, teeth ready to rip apart his flesh. He groped for his Bowie knife and prepared for the agony that would explode from wherever the damn thing sunk its teeth into…

…And suddenly there was nothing holding onto him. He glanced around and saw Richtofen holster his gun, staring at him in amusement. Nikolai was given a wicked smile.

"That was your fault," Nikolai snarled, anger and embarrassment swimming below his skin, letting off a heat that resulted in a flush. He realized that both Tank and Takeo were finished with their zombie hordes and were observing the two of them with arched eyebrows. Richtofen crossed his arms and gave him a questioning look.

Furious at being saved by a Nazi, Nikolai stomped away from Teleporter C Room. "I am going to drink vodka," he grumbled, unshouldering his bag that contained his stash. Behind him, he heard Tank comment, "You know, Doc, I don't think he likes ya too much."

"Pity." His tone suggested that it wasn't something that concerned him.

* * *

Later in the day found Nikolai dozing lightly against the Juggernog machine, again finding solace in its protective properties. Footsteps broke him out of his light resting state, and he blearily blinked the sleep out of his eyes to realize someone standing over him. He panicked, grabbing for his PPSh-41 instinctively.

"Calm down. I vas just coming for zhe drink," came the thick German accent he had come to associate with the rotten Nazi.

Nikolai grumbled, releasing his hold on the gun and rubbing at his eyes miserably. He had been in the middle of a very nice dream, and he didn't appreciate being woken up by the Nazi, of all people. He would have preferred to be woken up by a zombie taking a bite out of his arm than by Doctor Richtofen.

When he refused to move out of the way, Richtofen told him dryly, "Zhe effects have vorn off, and I am at risk."

The Russian grunted in response and shuffled a distance away and slid down the wall. He caressed his fingertips over the sleek barrel of his gun, observing the Nazi remove a bottle from the machine under his lashes distrustfully.

Richtofen removed the top of the bottle with a flick of his wrist and brought the beverage to his lips. He noticed Nikolai giving him a dirty look and returned it promptly. He downed the bottle in a couple chugs, wiping the sleeve of his SS uniform across his mouth to remove the stray drops.

"Now fuck off," Nikolai dismissed harshly. "Nikolai was trying to sleep, and you ruin it."

"Sleep?" Richtofen echoed. "Zhis is not an appropriate time for sleep. Perhaps you should be down in zhe mainframe vith zhe ozhers, preparing for zhe next hordes of zhe undead."

Nikolai simply turned his head away, closing his eyes.

Richtofen glared at him, gritting his teeth and clenching his hands into fists. He did _not_ like to be ignored. "Russian, get down to zhe mainframe. _Now_."

"Fuck you," he replied calmly, bothering not to open his eyes and look at the Nazi.

With a snarl of rage, the doctor surged forward and snatched at the front of the Soviet's uniform, hauling him to his feet. "Get zhe _fuck_ down to zhe mainframe." He threw Nikolai into the hallway next to the barricade and wiped his hands down his uniform as if he had touched something vile.

Nikolai spat out something in Russian, a particularly dirty insult, and spun around to face the doctor after having regained his balance.

They stared each other down.

"I am not repeating myself," Richtofen told him.

The other man growled lowly, raising a fist, wanting so badly to swing at his teammate.

"'Ey, Nikolai, get the hell down here! I have somethin' cool to show ya!" Tank called, breaking through the chilling silence that had descended between the two rival men.

With a final withering stare, Nikolai turned on his heel and left to go to the mainframe. Not because Richtofen had told him to. Never.

Wordlessly, the doctor followed him.

* * *

Finally, after night had finally arrived, marking the day as another survived against the undead, the weary soldiers met up in the mainframe to delegate nighttime responsibilities.

"Well," Tank spoke up immediately, wanting to rush the meeting, "since me and Takeo haven't slept for a whole day, I think we should get to go to sleep tonight. You," he indicated Richtofen, "and Nikolai can do the rounds, and tomorrow you two can sleep."

Finding this satisfactory, the doctor nodded his consent. "Zhe Russian and I vill do zhe rounds tonight."

Takeo bowed to his companions respectfully, wishing them great fortune with their tasks, while Tank raised a hand in farewell, and the two of them disappeared around opposite corners, heading towards their sleeping quarters of choice.

As soon as they were alone, Nikolai put a great distance between him and the Nazi, staring him down.

"You vill be taking zhe Animal Testing Lab and Teleporter A Room tonight. Ve vill meet up in an hour at zhe bridge. Is zhis understood?"

"Whatever," he spat, hurrying away to where he had been assigned, all too pleased to leave the presence of that infuriating bastard.

Richtofen rolled his eyes at this childish behavior and unholstered his gun, holding it in an appropriate position to shoot. He closed his eyes briefly before marching out of the mainframe.

* * *

An hour later found the doctor where he had assigned the two of them, but he was not surprised to discover that the Russian had not bothered to show up. With a grimace at having to work closely with such a person, Richtofen leaned against the railing of the bridge he was situated on, and he studied the details of the wall before him. He glanced over his shoulder at the neon blue Swastika that was visible through the windows of Teleporter C Room.

He tapped his fingers to an unheard beat in his head, growing steadily impatient for the Soviet soldier to show up.

Perhaps he had been eaten by some zombies. But Richtofen had never been that lucky. Ten minutes of silent observation of the Swastika, and the doctor decided he had better seek out Nikolai and drag him to the designated meeting spot so they could get on with their rounds.

He turned on his heel and marched across the bridge grating towards the staircase that would take him to the Juggernog machine, which he knew to be a favorite spot of the Russian. When he turned the corner and found no childish soldier, he became significantly more agitated. He resisted the urge to tug at tufts of his own hair.

His search led him down to the Animal Testing Lab and ended in Teleporter A Room. As soon as he entered the room where the teleporter was, he was greeted with a Russian song coming from the lips of one drunken Soviet, who really could not sing worth crap.

Richtofen cringed at the tune that forced its way into his ears and nearly clapped his hands over them in desperation. Instead, he decided to just cut it off at its source. He ascended the left staircase and found Nikolai slumped over the weapons box, cradling his bottle of vodka like his life depended on it.

"'Ey, Rick-Rif-Rit-Ripo-fen. Yeah—that is it."

"My name is Richtofen," he corrected annoyedly. "Vhat are you doing?"

"I am singing o' my country and o' old times." He hiccupped, swaying in place.

"I told you to make your rounds. I did not say to get drunk and make a fool out of yourself."

"Wha'?" Nikolai blinked. "I am not drunk."

"Ja, I can see zhat," was his dry reply. "And I am not a doctor."

"You are not?"

"_Ja_," Richtofen stressed in irritation, "I am. I am just saying zhat you are clearly drunk as I am clearly a doctor."

Nikolai chose not to respond, gripping his head. "Ugh, this headache is bitch. Perhaps more vodka will help." He lifted his bottle to his lips and downed the contents.

With a sigh, Richtofen wondered at this unfortunate circumstance. What was he going to do with a drunken partner? The man was helpless against the zombies in this state.

"You know, this vodka almost make you tolerable," he was told seriously.

"You do not say."

"In fact, I could almost ignore fact that you are Nazi."

"Really."

"Da."

"Vell, I cannot say zhe same about you. I myself do not have alcohol to raise my inhibitions. To me, you are still a filthy Soviet."

"Fuck you!" Nikolai exclaimed, furrowing his brow. "I was complimenting you, and that is how you repay me?"

"_Zhat _vas a compliment?" Richtofen's eyebrows shot upwards, not that Nikolai noticed due to the hat that covered his forehead and shadowed his eyes.

"I am getting tired of your sarcasm," Nikolai slurred, directing a half-assed glare at the agitated Nazi.

"I am getting tired of your drunkenness," the doctor retorted. "You're vorthless to me like zhis."

"Fuck off."

"Nein."

They leveled each other with harsh looks, and Nikolai was discontent to find that his pleasant fuzziness was fading away, leaving him with red hot anger towards his worst enemy. _Nobody_ was allowed to sober him up.

Nikolai clamored to his feet, leaving his empty bottle and gun behind on the ground. He stood to his full height, finding himself to be a bit taller than the threatening Nazi. Pushing aside this small victory, he bared his teeth in anger.

Richtofen's lips curled into a frown of distaste. He kept his eyes locked with the Russian's, refusing to back down.

Slowly, they began to circle each other, forming fists with their clenched hands until their bones were protesting. They let out low noises that were akin to the growling of territorial hounds.

"Fucking Nazi!" Nikolai spat, swinging a fist in his direction.

"Fucking Soviet!" Richtofen returned in equal fury, easily sidestepping the blow and surging forward threateningly. He invaded the Russian's space, preparing to shove him backwards roughly to begin the fight that was brimming. He raised his hands to attack Nikolai, but he found himself being forced backwards against the edge of the teleporter behind him, a furious soldier practically eating his mouth.

Teeth dug into his sensitive lips and drew blood, and the scent and taste of bitter vodka filled his senses. He was vaguely aware of hands digging into his uniform and the light pressure of nails trying to claw at him through his clothing.

Nikolai swiped his tongue over Richtofen's lips, tasting his blood victoriously, his lips attaching to a rather deep cut and sucking at it. He pushed the Nazi back against the teleporter, delighting in his exhalation of pain at the metal burrowing into his spine and arching him into the other man.

"I fucking hate you, Nazi," Nikolai breathed out against his bleeding mouth, raising a hand to slice a bitten nail through his cheek when he roughly fondled the hollowed, sharp cheekbone.

Frustration filled Richtofen at being dominated by the Soviet, and he fought back determinedly. He gnashed his teeth against the wandering tongue, satisfied when a cry of pain was his reward, along with the coppery taste of fresh blood against his palate. He walked them backwards until Nikolai was perched on the weapons box. He leaned over him, grabbing at his abundant clothing and becoming slightly dizzy from the mingling scent and flavor of their mixed blood.

Nikolai grunted when he suddenly found Richtofen kneeling above him with one knee on the wooden box that contained iron wonders. The box groaned weakly at the extra weight atop it. The Russian hooked an ankle around the leg that was firmly planted on the ground and struggled to trip the doctor. He turned his head so that Richtofen's abused lips were pressed against his cheek, and he clamped his teeth down on the other man's earlobe. His traveling hands stopped on his firm backside, groping harshly at the cloth-covered flesh with enough force to bruise.

Richtofen ignored the hands on his body and sank his teeth into the fleshy cheek in front of him, raking his nails down the soldier's neck, chest, and abdomen until he reached his groin. He gripped Nikolai's crotch with an unforgiving grasp until the Russian was panting out obscenities in his native language.

Nikolai decided to respond to this new attention by fondling the Nazi intimately as well, capturing his lips once again and slipping his vodka-reeking tongue into the doctor's mouth to share saliva.

They grabbed and grasped at each other until they were both reduced to needy, moaning creatures of lust, their hands bringing the other to a painfully satisfying release.

Having reached his limit, Richtofen sank to his knees in front of the trembling Nikolai. He let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes at the dwindling shockwaves of pleasure that licked and whipped their way through his body.

He lifted his eyelids halfway and peered up at his enemy, taking in his state with interest. At least he wasn't hopelessly drunk anymore.

He licked his dry lips, finding blood still on them. He could feel the wet stick of the crimson fluid splashed across his cheek where he had been cut and was pleased to find that Nikolai wasn't without his own battle wounds.

Nikolai rather enjoyed the pleasure-weakened Nazi on his knees in front of him. It was a good look for him.

Angry foreplay was something they both could agree on—but it was probably one of the only things.


	5. Drunken Encounter, Tank and Zombie

**Disclaimer:** _Call of Duty: World at War_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title: **_Drunken Encounter (American)._

**Summary:** Tank, incredibly drunk, unleashes his affections onto an unsuspecting zombie.

**Story Pairings:** Tank Dempsey/Zombie, suggested Tank Dempsey/Edward Richtofen.

* * *

A wobbly-coordinated hand lifted into the air, reaching for the nail that was held out for it to grab. It surged forward, swiping at the nail and missing it completely. It retracted a bit, tensing in determination and a moment of focus, but when it grabbed for the nail again, it hardly brushed it.

"Urgh, Dempsey, just take the damn nail," Nikolai groaned, "and repair window so I can go find somewhere quiet to drink vodka."

"Well," Tank grumbled, "if ya'd stop movin' the damn nail e'ry time I reach f'er it, mehbe I could."

"You speak nonsense, American. Nikolai is not moving nail. It stay in same place the whole time. See?" Nikolai gestured with his other hand to the stationary nail held out to him. "How about I do board instead?"

"No, no, _no_. I can do it."

The Russian sighed heavily, rubbing with a clenched fist at his drowsy eyes. They were going to be here forever. "What is wrong with you, American? You are acting stranger than usual."

"Wha' are ya talkin' 'bout, Nik-Nik-la-ee? 'M fine."

Nikolai shot him an annoyed look at his mispronunciation, dangling the nail between two fingers in front of Tank's face. "Okay, go elsewhere. Nikolai will take care of window."

"Go where?"

"I do not care. Anywhere but here."

With a grunt of understanding, Tank took his leave, stumbling and tripping over nearly every object in his path out of the mainframe.

"Blood-shot eyes, slur, less intelligence than usual, and funny walk. Does he think Nikolai is stupid?" the Soviet muttered to himself, raising his hammer to pound in the nail he was holding steady on a fresh board. "I was like that a couple hours ago." He paused, throwing a jealous look over his shoulder. "Lucky bastard…"

* * *

Tank tripped over the last object he could handle and landed heavily on the dusty, greasy floor with a loud groan. His head was spinning, and it felt too nice to just rest right there on the cold cement than to upset his senses once again by clamoring to his feet.

His lips parted and a bit of saliva tracked down the cheek that was pressed against the floor, quickly forming a small puddle underneath him. A noisy snore escaped him.

* * *

This was it. This was its chance to break in and devour the juicy parts of those living within this abandoned factory. It could feel the heartbeats; smell that bitter life-sustaining fluid coursing through veins, arteries, and hearts; taste the air that passed through nasal passages, bronchi, lungs, bronchioles, and back out again.

A lone deceased, reanimated Nazi soldier dragged itself towards a window through an alleyway that was lit dimly by a flickering light and a dying fire, picking up immediately on the fact that a living being was close by and alone. And by the sounds of its slow breathing, _helpless_.

It threw its arms up, wrapping bloodied, torn fingers around a board that was half-assedly nailed in. With all the strength of the Führer's own, it ripped the board clean off, making hardly a sound. Immediately, it groped at another board, treating it the same. There were about three more boards in its way.

It peered through the window, spotting a blonde man in a green military uniform slumbering on the floor, dead to the world. The Nazi zombie took a moment to grip its own head, nearly shrieking out in pain at its forced reanimation assaulting its brain.

Tank, however, was doing very well, currently caught in a rather erotic dream that appealed to his own fetishes. Accordingly, he became aroused.

The zombie, too anxious to taste that warm flesh, defied all rules and squeezed through the bottom of the window, creating more rips and tears in its once pristine SS uniform. It shuffled over to the sleeping American. If it could salivate at the sight of that pink, smooth skin, it would.

As it was about to bend over and rake its nails over the shaved head and puncture it to end the man's life, Tank let out a noise, reaching out and wrapping a hand around the zombie's boot. He flexed his bicep, yanking the zombie onto the ground. It screeched in outrage at this new and unwelcome development.

Tank, bleary-eyed and still obviously very drunk, climbed on top of the squirming creature, staring down at its disfigured features with a small frown. Slowly, that frown twisted into a seductive smirk when the American realized that he liked what he saw. Or rather, his mind saw.

He straddled the zombie, pinning its hands over its head easily with one of his own.

"'Ey there, sexy," Tank slurred, nearing the angry monster's face, trying to entice it with his smooth lines. "Would ya let me do ya if I was on top o' ya?" Without pausing, he continued, "Good. 'Cause I a'ready plan ta."

He pulled away from the zombie's snapping jaws just in time to keep his nose, looking around, as if suddenly realizing something. "Let's make things a li'l more dirty." Tank pulled open the zombie's military coat, scattering buttons all around them with noisy clatters, and revealed its ruined, once-white collared shirt underneath. With one hand, he tore it in half, stuffing the waded-up cloth into the Nazi's mouth when it was wide open in mid-snarl.

"There…" Tank purred at it. He shifted himself so that the zombie got a crotch full of hard flesh, and the American sluggishly thrust his hips against it, moaning in need. The Nazi zombie didn't seem to share his enthusiasm, its own once-actively used reproductive organ remaining disappointingly soft. It snarled and screeched at him more, desperate to sink its teeth into tissue and bone.

"Babe, y'er so good," Tank complimented, his cheeks flushed and eyes still blood-shot. He continued thrusting, staring down at those glowing, golden eye sockets in fascination.

Tank then decided that he needed something a little less dry and hurriedly undid his pants with his unoccupied hand while moving backwards enough to allow himself room, moving towards the Nazi trousers with equal speed, nearly ripping them down the creature's hips.

He exposed deadened, somewhat sour-smelling flesh, but that mattered not to the aroused American. He let go of the zombie's wrists for a moment, shoving both of its legs towards its chest, forcing it into a position perfect for what Tank planned on doing. He inched closer, dodging flailing arms that were still actively trying to snare prey.

Gritting his teeth in preparation, Tank grabbed himself and began searching for a hole.

Richtofen, who had been strolling by with a body bag of zombie parts he had been collecting, stopped dead in his tracks when he realized that the back of a head he was staring at belonged to Dempsey. He quietly set down his bag and took refuge behind a nearby crate, peering over it to see what the American was up to with distrust and suspicion.

His eyebrows shot upwards when he also realized that a very animated zombie was underneath the American. The more he watched of Tank attempting to have sex with it, the more interested he became. And he began seeing the fellow teammate in a new light. This was… _erotic_.

The living Nazi liked what he was seeing very much, and his lower half agreed with him. He chewed on his lip, wondering if he should surrender to his desires for a moment and get off to this delicious show in front of him.

Ja, that sounded like a good idea.

Tank, unaware of his spectator, finally found the hole he was looking for and forced himself inside, grabbing the wrists again and pinning them above the zombie's head. Awful, muffled screams came from its throat, and it writhed and squirmed in agony below the American, who was hard at work rutting in and out of his vocal partner.

He buried his face in the zombie's neck, panting heavily. It didn't smell very good, but Tank was far from complaining at the moment. He was too focused on the sensations he was receiving.

Tank closed his eyes, daring to go a little harder with his movements, reveling in the sounds that came from the thing beneath him. Its hips spasmed, its legs jerked, its arms lurched, its teeth furiously shredded through the cloth in its mouth. But not once did it become as hard as Tank was.

The American finally tensed after a couple slowed thrusts, throwing his head back in ecstasy, groaning out his pleasure. His significantly tightened grip snapped the brittle bones of the wrists of the zombie, making it howl out in even more agony.

Once Tank had finished riding out the rest of his release, he sagged forward, slumping on top of the zombie exhaustively. He panted against the monster's cheek, releasing the broken wrists, which uselessly dropped to the ground.

Richtofen, his lip bleeding from holding in his screams of delight (he was as vocal as the other rather deceased Nazi), drooped against the crate he was hiding behind, tiredly watching Tank coo sweet nothings to his furious sexual partner.

He wondered if he could get the American to do the same to him. He just hoped it wasn't the "undead" part that the man was attracted to. He would later find out, through rejected subtle, suggestive hints and "accidental" brushes of skin to skin, that Tank wasn't interested at all in other men. He was just a horny drunk.

Nikolai better hold onto his vodka. Richtofen had his eye on it.


	6. Drunken Encounter, Tank and Richtofen

**Disclaimer: **_Call of Duty: World at War_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title: **_Drunken Encounter._

**Summary: **Richtofen has a way of getting on Tank's nerves but receiving what he wants in the process.

**Story Pairing: **Tank Dempsey/Edward Richtofen.

* * *

When Tank awoke that morning with a pounding head and a sour taste in his mouth, he hadn't been prepared to gain a certain creepy follower.

Tank forced his eyes open, staring up at a flickering light above him. From the fact that it was the only light he could see besides a lessening in darkness outside a nearby window, he could tell it was very early in the morning. Shaking his head and wishing for some way to get rid of the dull ache that was making him groan in distaste, he heaved himself up off the floor he had been slumbering on, swaying slightly as he gained his balance.

"Ugh…" he mumbled to himself, gripping his head and massaging a temple with one hand and taking a few steps towards the exit of the room, ready to regroup with his team and start slaughtering the undead once again. However, he knew that it was much too early to begin, and his teammates were most likely still asleep. This tempted him to go find Nikolai and do funny things to him while he slept.

He let out a chuckle at the thought of torturing the poor Soviet—for fun, of course. Nothing like, say, what Richtofen would do to one of them, involving blood, wounds, or disturbing experimentation. He had found a fountain pen lying around in a desk drawer, and he was eager to give Nikolai some new facial characteristics.

Feeling somewhat more awake and in a slightly better mood, he made his way towards the room with the desk where he had found the fountain pen. As soon as he turned a corner, though, he connected bodily with a hard something else. He grabbed onto it to regain his footing, blinking blearily at what was in front of him.

A small grin belonging to a certain fascist greeted him, and dark eyes locked with his own.

Tank immediately let go of Richtofen, sidestepping him to continue on his way.

Richtofen, however, jumped in his way again, leaning forward in interest, his grin never wavering.

"What the hell do you want?" Tank grumbled, struggling to dodge the Nazi again.

"Hallo, Dempsey," he greeted cheerfully, holding out an arm to block the American's way.

"Hello, freak," he responded, debating whether breaking the man's arm would help or harm the team. He sighed, deciding to stand still and listen to what the doctor had to say. He crossed his arms, peering at the man with half-lidded eyes.

Richtofen audibly grit his teeth, a twitch forming in one eye. He held up his hands. "Now, now, zhere is no need for zhat. Ve're all friends here."

Tank arched an eyebrow. "What is this about?"

Richtofen smiled. He leaned forward a bit more into Tank's personal space. "Vhat are you up to zhis early in zhe morning?"

"Nothin'. Just going to find somewhere to sit around," he lied. He wanted to speed this up and get to drawing on Nikolai before the man woke up. He impatiently tapped a foot, eyebrows knitting together.

The Nazi stretched out a hand, brushing it casually against Tank's exposed forearm, pretending to be grabbing for a severed pipe attached to the wall next to him. He leaned up against the opposite wall, crossing one leg over the other. "Sounds… vonderful. You might need company."

Tank almost groaned out loud. He didn't need this. "Y'know, Doc, that ain't necessary. Just go find some zombie to poke and prod at and leave me the hell out of it."

Richtofen's smile disappeared. He brushed against Tank's forearm with more insistence when retracting it, noting slyly how the other man's eyes glanced downwards at his own hand for a small moment, appearing slightly uncomfortable. "But you might need someone vhen zhe undead attack again," he insisted.

"Since when did you care whether we live or die?" Tank shot back.

"Vhy, I alvays have. I vant my allies to be protected."

"Bullshit. You're just waitin' for us to drop dead so you can mess with our bodies."

"Tempting, I must say," Richtofen teased. He smirked at Tank playfully.

The American was disturbed by this. He immediately pushed past the older man, making his way towards a staircase. He was annoyed to find that the Nazi had tagged along, hurrying along behind him, matching his footsteps.

Whatever. He didn't care if the doctor saw what he was going to do, as long as he didn't try to interfere.

"You are in quite a hurry, American," Richtofen spoke up from behind the bulky Marine. "Quite a hurry just to go 'sit around.'"

"Just keep quiet, and I won't kick you down these stairs." Why did Tank feel so disgusting? Like he had touched one of those zombies? He shuddered discreetly. The thought of getting anywhere near those pus-oozing, bulging-eye, musty, moldy zombies gave him the creeps. He snatched the fountain pen from an ajar desk drawer as he passed it, continuing swiftly towards the Russian.

"Mmm, don't vorry. I von't say anyzhing more," Richtofen promised, lagging behind to survey his teammate somewhat suspiciously.

Tank ignored this new found attention, nearly tip-toeing into the room that was serving as Nikolai's quarters. He was camped out in a little room that housed some kind of bright green jar that made strange noises whenever someone was in earshot. Nikolai must like the sound, or he wouldn't sleep to it.

Tank tried not to snicker as he neared the snoring Soviet, whose headgear had rolled off in his sleep, exposing a mop of hair. He welded the fountain pen as if it were a sword, preparing to strike. And when he did, his strikes were quick, clean, and precise.

Richtofen was a bit intrigued by this, so he stayed back a little to peer in at the two men.

The Marine stood back, admiring what he had done, barely able to contain his childish laughter. It had been so long since he had been able to enjoy himself like this. He tossed the fountain pen aside, needing it no longer.

Richtofen rolled his eyes at this behavior.

"Nikolai won't even know he's got a new mustache," Tank whispered triumphantly. That'll show the little bastard not to hide the toilet paper when he has to shit...

"Very funny," the Nazi doctor said dryly. "I am sure zhat Takeo vill laugh his head off vhen he sees zhis."

"Heh, heh, I couldn't agree more."

Done with his mischief, Tank walked out of the room and towards the bridge that would take him to the other side—to the Animal Test Labs. He hadn't expected to still be followed, so when he heard quick strides behind him, he whipped around and found himself face-to-face with the Nazi. "What the hell do ya want?"

"I have nozhing else to do. Surely you von't mind if I continue to tag along, ja?"

Tank grumbled to himself, spinning on his heel to continue his journey down to the labs. "Whatever... Stupid Kraut..." He and Richtofen entered into the room housing the Teleporter A. Its blue Swastika flashed bright blue at them.

The gun box was in this room, and Tank immediately began to rummage through it. When he had gone through every gun and was very bored waiting for Nikolai to wake up, he was suddenly pulled to his feet, spun around, and seated right on top of the box. Richtofen was forcing himself onto his lap, his chapped, thin lips nearly devouring his own unresponsive ones.

"What the hell—" Tank exclaimed through Kraut lips, trying to scoot backwards and away from the other man.

"You vere so very sexy last night," Richtofen rasped at him, tugging at the buttons on Tank's shirt impatiently, "und I vant you _so_ badly." His tongue dragged against the sweaty, salty skin of Marine's neck, and he was nearly purring at the taste.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Tank yelped, trying his best to kick free of the Nazi's tight thighs around his own. His head was pounding. What the hell had he drank?

Richtofen shifted and shoved a rather blunt object against the American's hip, thrusting eagerly. "Dempsey..."

Tank was sure he was going to have a permanent eye twitch after this, as his wouldn't stop. He was disgusted and appalled. "I'm not attracted to men, damn it! Get off!"

"Are you sure?" The Nazi gazed at him seductively under half-lidded eyes. He neared the other man's face, brushing his lips against his. He rubbed his bulge into Tank's crotch, not backing down even when he felt that the other man wasn't aroused by his attentions.

Tank squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away angrily. He put his hands on the smaller man's shoulders and shoved as hard as he could, dislodging the Nazi from his perch upon his lap. He jumped up and staggered away, not bothering to look back at Richtofen, who was still laying on the floor, panting and red-faced.

Damn it, Richtofen cursed in his head. He had been sure that he had him.

* * *

Tank snickered uncontrollably when Nikolai had finally woken up and come down to have breakfast with the rest of them. He bit his lip as hard as he could to contain his obnoxious laughter that was threatening to burst out of him.

Takeo glanced at Nikolai for a couple seconds before going back to his solo card game. He did not understand what was so funny.

Richtofen, currently absent, wouldn't have cracked a smile either.

Nikolai groaned when he noticed that they were having rice for breakfast. "Let me guess... Takeo's turn to pick food?"

"You guessed it." Tank lifted his bowl of rice and wolfed it down like a starving dog would.

Takeo gracefully ate his with a pair of worn chopsticks. He most likely kept those on him at all times. He gestured to the other bowls still waiting to be eaten. "It is good and fresh."

Nikolai groaned again, not really in the mood for something so simple. Maybe vodka would help... He groped around on his person, searching for that familiar glass bottle that would serve as his breakfast. When he didn't find it the first time, he reasoned that he had simply not looked well enough. A couple more times of unsuccessful searches had him tensing up.

"Quit gropin' yourself and eat," Tank muttered from behind the bowl he was eating from.

"There must be mistake... Where did Nikolai leave his vodka?"

"Last time I saw it, you were drinkin' out of it. How the hell should I know?"

"He is correct. That is the last time I had seen it, also."

Feeling very uneasy, Nikolai stalked back from where he had come from, on a rampage to find his missing alcohol. His bowl was left untouched and growing cold, so Takeo decided that he would finish it.

Richtofen, whistling cheerfully, entered the room where his two teammates were eating.

Tank avoided looking at him.

"Vhat are ve having? Rice? Ah, vhat a simple yet delicious meal," he lied, grinning ear to ear despite how his morning had gone. He was sporting a new bottle at his waist, the two men noticed.

"What is that?" Takeo inquired quietly, motioning to the bottle. He continued without waiting for a reply, "It appears to me that you have stolen the Russian's alcohol. He is most displeased and will want that back immediately."

"I don't zhink zhat he needs it quite as much as I do today."

Tank was growing more and more uncomfortable being in the same room as the Nazi, so he excused himself by standing up from his seat on top of some dusty manuals and getting out of there as fast as he could.

Richtofen watched him leave, becoming slightly aroused by thinking of what he had planned for the American. He sat next to the Japanese man, watching him play with his deck of cards while slowly eating his rice. He couldn't wait.

* * *

"Ugh, what I'd do for a drink right about now," Tank mumbled, his head resting in his hands. He threaded his fingers through his blonde locks, rubbing at his scalp. "At least drunk I wouldn't have to suffer through this headache."

"Zhat can be arranged, if you really vant somezhing to drink," the Nazi announced, seemingly coming from the shadows, a bottle of vodka in his grasp, which was outstretched towards the American temptingly.

"Why won't you screw off?" Tank exclaimed, rising to his feet so that he'd be ready to run if the German tried anything. He wasn't in the mood for this.

"Calm down, Dempsey. I only bring you a gift," he said, waving the bottle at him. "It's yours."

"What did you put in it?" Tank bluntly asked, distrustfully eying the bottle.

"Nozhing. It is merely a bottle of vodka."

"Nikolai's, right? Why'd you steal it?"

"For you," Richtofen insisted. "Take it. Drink."

Tank exhaled sharply from his nose, slowly losing inhibition. He could use a good drink right now, and damn it, if this wasn't a gift from above... He held out a hand to receive the bottle. He didn't bother to thank the Nazi when he had the vodka in his fist. He merely uncorked it and took a cautious swig. It tasted like regular vodka...

He sat back down, downing the bottle instantly. After a short time, his head began to swim, his thoughts became jumbled, and his eyesight blurred. He barely saw the smirk upon the doctor's lips before he was no longer consciously aware of what he was doing.

"Finally... Dempsey is all mine," Richtofen cooed, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. He shuffled closer to the swaying man, observing him to make sure that he wouldn't attack him for getting close. He placed a finger under the American's chin, lifting it so that he could look into the man's blue eyes.

Tank blinked lazily but said nothing.

Richtofen grabbed him by the jacket and forced him down on top of him, lowering them carefully to the ground. He wrapped his legs around Tank's hips, surrendering himself. His hat tumbled off of his head, and he licked his lips a little nervously. The only thing he was worried about was the way Tank snapped that zombie's wrists last night. He was hoping to keep both of his hands when he got out of this.

Drunken Tank peered down at the man under him, struggling to understand what was going on.

"Have your vay vith me," Richtofen begged, rubbing against him and whispering in his ear. "I vant you..."

Tank furrowed his brow, going over the words until they made sense in his head. He suddenly grinned, as seductively as he had at the zombie he had fucked last night. Drunken Tank was just getting lucky, wasn't he? He grabbed Richtofen's bone-thin wrists in one hand, squashing them against the floor above the man's head, knocking the Nazi hat farther away.

Richtofen began to lightly pant in his excitement. He loved having his wrists bound above his head, and he loved even more feeling so vulnerable. It was a secret fantasy of his that he had never been able to fulfill.

Tank descended upon Richtofen's lips quickly, missing and colliding with his cheek. He kissed that anyway, making his way down to quivering lips. His lips were accepted right away, and he slid his tongue into the warm mouth immediately. His groin began to spring up against the Nazi's already-hard one.

Richtofen sucked slightly on the tongue that was in his mouth, trembling because Tank had already began to stuff a hand down his pants. Even though the man was drunk and clearly not aware of what he was doing, the doctor felt that this would be sufficient enough to please him.

The German moaned wantonly into Tank's mouth when his erection was fondled roughly. He threw his head back, breaking their kiss and licking up the string of saliva that connected them. He blinked up at the ceiling, and his eyes slid closed at the sensations erupting from his groin. Tank knew how to handle a man...

He thrust upwards into Tank's tight grip, crying out in his high-pitched voice, "_Ahh!_ Yesss, Dempsey!"

Tank undid his pants quickly, as well as Richtofen's, and slid them down their hips for more room. He breathed heavily against the Nazi's neck, chuckling when the other man squealed at his finger probing his backside.

Richtofen struggled to relax his tense muscles to make it easier on himself. What he didn't expect was Tank ramming his engorged flesh into him suddenly without any preparation. He shrieked out in pain and pleasure, breaking the man's hold of his wrists and throwing his arms around Tank's neck, tightly gripping onto the man's hips with his thighs. He babbled in German loudly while Tank penetrated him deeply.

They rocked together, with Richtofen making so much noise that it was a wonder that the other two men didn't come to investigate.

It didn't take Tank long to finish, and he poured his warmth inside of Richtofen, who couldn't help but gasp, reaching his own orgasm instantly.

Tank pulled out, falling on the ground nearby, dead asleep.

Richtofen panted exhaustively, his bony chest rising and falling quickly and his body trembling with the aftershocks. He was utterly satisfied. But... he poured the last few drops of vodka out of the bottle that had been discarded near him. He already wanted more from Tank. He was addicted.

He just wished that it didn't take alcohol to make the man want him.

He'd have to fight Nikolai to the death if he wanted another bottle. Thankfully, he wasn't afraid of dying if he could just get some more American tail.


	7. Forbidden Love, Takeo and Richtofen

**Disclaimer: **_Call of Duty: Black Ops_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:**_ Forbidden Love._

**Summary: **There are rumors going around...

**Story Pairing(s): **Takeo Masaki/Edward Richtofen, suggested Takeo Masaki/Cymbal Monkey.

* * *

There is a well-known rumor going around this particular Soviet space station. In fact, this rumor had been around since the days of Der Riese. Takeo took no notice of this rumor, seeing as how it was centered around him, but the others frequently snickered to each other about it, giving the Japanese man leers behind his back. It was all harmless fun, of course, but what they didn't know was that it was the _truth_. There was nothing to be joking about when it was said that Takeo and the Cymbal Monkey were friendly with each other.

"I have overheard what our teammates—including you—have been saying about me," Takeo spoke calmly, not even glancing up from his Lamentation when the Nazi doctor had shuffled up to him, appearing somewhat uncomfortable.

"Zhis is all just harmless fun, you know," Richtofen replied, rubbing at the back of his neck with jerky motions. A bead of sweat gathered at his temple. "You are not really planning to sabotage zhe landers?"

Takeo smiled faintly, but with his face shadowed by his hat, the Nazi did not notice. Ah, what a pleasant turn of events. Rumors, rumors. Those three buffoons will gossip themselves into a worry over everything. Mainly when Pack-a-Punching. There was certainly a moment's wait that could be used for picking up a new piece of juicy information as one stood in a line waiting for a miracle weapon to be spat back out at thyself.

It was a wonder that so much gossip originates from only three very, very bored men. Just last week, they were avoiding Tank like the plague because it was suggested that he had once screwed a zombie. Rumor? Takeo did not think so.

Now it was his turn to be (once again) the victim. He was having a love affair with a zombie-attracting, bomb-wired monkey toy, their newest threat has been spawned from him and the monkey, and he was going to destroy their escape landers in a fit of rage because of the leaking of these well-kept secrets.

He was certainly not going to harm something that he deemed useful to his survival. However, he was not sure that he had the uterus required for birthing something or that the Cymbal Monkey had any type of genitals or healthy semen for fertilizing... Takeo's ova? Or was it the other way around? It is so difficult to keep up with this nonsense.

He supposed that the two other cowards had forced Richtofen to come soothe him so that his "violent fits" would pass quietly. Perhaps he lost in a drinking game? The Nazi _was_ a lightweight. What he could stomach was nothing compared to what Tank and, naturally, the drunken Soviet could handle in terms of alcoholic beverages.

"It depends, really," Takeo finally admitted. Might as well keep them guessing. Takeo could have his fun once in a while, too. "One day I might just snap." He emphasized this with a simple snap of his bony fingers.

Richtofen stood up straighter in his space suit. Why was he the only one who had gotten one, anyway? "I see..."

"Hurry along to your little grapevine, Nazi," Takeo dismissively waved a hand in his direction, "unless you actually have something important to inquire of me."

"Vell..." Richtofen hesitated. He had to know. "...is it true zhat you are having intercourse vith zhe Cymbal Monkey?"

Takeo smiled again. He looked the German in the eyes and spoke the word that the other man had been dreading and stressing over. "Hai."

Richtofen hurried away with this new information. Suddenly, he had something to Pack-a-Punch. And apparently Tank and Nikolai did, too, when they learned this.

* * *

Tank tapped a foot behind Nikolai, who crossed his arms in annoyance while the man in front decided—slowly—on which of his weapons he wanted to upgrade.

"I heard somezhing of interest today," Richtofen commented out of the silence. "Somezhing zhat I know zhe both of you have been impatient to learn."

Tank perked up. Nikolai lazily eyed the Nazi, twirling his almost-empty bottle of vodka in one hand.

"What is it?" Tank inquired immediately, trying not to look too excited. After spending many hours seated upon a chair in one of the very complex rooms of the space station, he was hungry for something juicy.

Richtofen took a deep breath. "Takeo is having a sexual relationship vith zhe monkey."

Tank slammed a fist down on his gun, his mouth dropping open in pure amazement. "That _sonuvabitch_!"

Nikolai cackled, swaying on his feet. He nearly smashed his bottle on Tank's head with the frantic waving of his arms. "Nikolai knew this!"

"So wait, wait, wait... Those space monkey fuckers were the mutant lovechildren of 'em, huh?"

There was a painfully awkward silence as Nikolai and Richtofen turned slowly to look at Tank incredulously. The American realized how stupid he had sounded and coughed loudly into his fist, averting his eyes from those of his teammates.

"How did you find this?" Nikolai demanded, furrowing his brow.

"I asked him."

"And he just told you?" the American muttered disbelievingly. "Good man. Tak' knows how to face up to his problems."

"But he is still going to sabotage landers?"

Richtofen shrugged helplessly. "His answer vas rather vague. Maybe he vill." He had not retrieved his newly Pack-a-Punched weapon from the machine, and it was currently being disintegrated inside silently. None of the soldiers noticed, their thoughts all on Takeo (who was currently sneezing annoyedly—"Damn grapevine").

Finally, Tank peered over Nikolai's shoulder, and with a cruel grin, he pointed out the lost weapon. Richtofen cursed, moving out of the way as the Russian Pack-a-Punched, but he was not really concerned about it. Something else was bothering him.

* * *

"Greetings, honorable men." Takeo waved to the three males gathered near their favorite lander, the one located past the Sleight of Hand machine.

Tank and Nikolai gave him wary looks. Richtofen forced a tight-lipped smile in his direction.

"Pleasant day, is it not?" Takeo made small talk, secretly gleeful at how uncomfortable the other men appeared to be at his presence. They had no idea...

Tank grunted. Nikolai took a swig of vodka. Richtofen examined his dirty fingernails.

"I was in the mood for some explosives. Does anyone know of where the weapons box is currently located?"

They tensed at the word "explosives."

"The Gersh device is useful, but I prefer something with more fire. Those cluster bombs, perhaps?"

The American whistled quietly to himself. He no longer respected Takeo now that he knew he was a monkey fucker.

"Those monkeys were quite rough some time ago. They nearly removed my clothing." Takeo did not mean that literally, of course, but Tank saw his opening.

"You secretly love to molest monkeys!" Tank pointed dramatically, disgust plain on his face.

"It is not a secret anymore," the Nazi reminded him irritably.

"What if I do?" Takeo bravely stood in place, glaring down at the Marine. "We all live our lives differently."

"Uh..." Tank faltered. He ran a hand through his hair. "Well, damn, Tak'. Why monkeys?"

"You would not understand," Takeo told him honestly.

Nikolai belched obnoxiously, purposely interrupting them. "This is boring. Nikolai is going elsewhere." He grumbled to himself. Rumors lost their appeal if they have been proven or disproven, in his opinion.

"Wait up, Nikolai!" Tank called, sprinting to catch up. He was not really looking forward to being in Takeo's presence any more that day. Maybe tomorrow he would get over the fact that Takeo seeks a different kind of love.

Richtofen, now alone with Takeo, was feeling bold. He had been mulling over his thoughts the entire day, and he was finally going to do what he has wanted to do for a long time. He could not keep it a secret anymore.

Takeo was debating on whether or not he wanted to trail after the other two men and bother them some more with subtle suggestive hints towards his not-so-platonic relationship with the explosive toy that had saved their asses so many times in the Der Riese factory and then again in the Kino der Toten. But he noticed that Richtofen was eying him like he was a piece of meat.

The Japanese man arched an eyebrow questioningly. "Do you wish to say something to me?"

Richtofen readied himself, facing Takeo completely and staring him in the eye, trying to be a little more intimidating to have the upper hand in the situation. He did not feel so big and scary, though.

"I vant to have sexual relations vith you."

* * *

Hours later, when the light in the sky had dimmed down into inky black, Richtofen was visited by a nightly guest.

He was slumbering away peacefully when something landed heavily atop him, his mouth being covered by wet, soft somethings that seemingly were trying to get him to respond accordingly.

In the darkness, he could not tell who was currently assaulting him so gently yet firmly, but he was so starved of affection that he was not particularly picky at the moment. The object atop him could be a zombie, and he would not have objec—... Well, okay, maybe not.

The mouth sucking on his lower lip did not taste bitter like vodka, and it was not rotting and foul. More fishy, really...

He sought a handle on the person he was kissing desperately. He eagerly returned the kisses, overjoyed when a hand was reaching into his trousers. He let out breathy little moans in response. Richtofen was an extremely verbal lover.

The hand that was not forcing the Nazis legs to wrap around a masculine waist was teasing him with careful strokes.

"Ahhh, _ja!_ Just like zhat!" Richtofen babbled, arching his hips, unconcerned with how he appeared to his molestor. "Mmmm..."

A faint smile tugged at the figure's lips. This was proving to be worth it.

Richtofen was very hard. Painfully so, in fact, and the teasing fingers trailing up and down his length were not helping. He was not at all against begging when he needed something so much. "Please! Please, more... I need more! Mmmm, _ja_..."

Takeo winked at him in the dark, squeezing the man's backside in approval. He could get used to this.

It was not until the next day that Takeo approached a rather cheerful Nazi and quietly told him, on the way to a Pack-a-Punch party of three, that he had heard from someone, who had heard from someone—who had overheard—that Richtofen likes to be screwed by men. The man in question sputtered violently, choking on his food rations.

"Greetings, honorable men!" Takeo threw his arms out in a friendly gesture to the grumpy American and bleary-eyed Russian as he neared the Pack-a-Punch machine. "You will not be able to guess what I have learned!"

Richtofen may have had it worse than the Japanese soldier, with Tank giving him dirty _I-will-kick-your-homo-ass-into-the-ground_ looks and Nikolai chucking empty vodka bottles at him for target practice, but nobody will ever truly know the nature of Takeo's relationship with the Cymbal Monkey. Let us just say that the explosive toy never really disappeared altogether. It was just cleverly hidden, with its location known only by one amorous man who cuddled with it on lonely, cold nights.


	8. Drunken Encounter, Richtofen and Zombie

**Disclaimer:** _Call of Duty: World at War_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game, does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:**_ Drunken Encounter (German)._

**Summary:** Richtofen enjoys a small game of power play with one of his creations.

**Story Pairing:** Edward Richtofen/Zombie.

* * *

"I can't believe you!" Richtofen screeched, watching with hardened, piercing green eyes as the guilty party promptly released a beaker of liquid from his grasp in his surprise. The shatter of glass upon the unforgiving cement was friendlier than the snarl that molded the doctor's lips.

Tank scratched the back of his neck in that stupid way he did when he did not know what to do. "Uhm, sorry 'bout that…"

"Vhat zhe fuck do you zhink you are doing in my personal labs?"

"Oh, come on, how was I supposed to know?"

"I zhink zhe mere fact zhat you cannot read anyzhing in here vould enlighten you."

Tank sighed in frustration. He crossed his bulging arms together across his chest and stared Richtofen down. "I was lookin' for somethin'."

"Vhat could you possibly vant from my supplies?"

"Nikolai is out of vodka, and he's demandin' more."

"Vhy should I care?"

"He refuses to fight the freakbags without alcohol in his system. Just slightly concernin', right?" Tank snorted. He watched as Richtofen took long strides towards him, side-stepping the mess with distaste.

Richtofen opened up one of his padlocked cabinets after retrieving a key from the depths of his uniform. The dust that had collected from many years of disuse failed to completely hide the alcohol that lined the shelves, along with once-sterile bandages. "Is zhis sufficient?"

"Damn, Doc," Tank trailed off. His eyes darted from each smudged bottle in growing excitement. "I think this calls for a party."

Richtofen wrinkled his nose, turning away stubbornly. "Zhat is not necessary. Don't drink it all—we might need some."

Tank rolled his eyes before grabbing a few bottles from the shelves. Balancing them in one arm, he closed his unoccupied hand around the doctor's bony wrist. "Come on, Doc."

Even with as much hate and distrust as he could muster in his gaze, Richtofen was unable to sway the hardened soldier and found himself seated upon a rickety crate around a fire, an almost full bottle in his hands. He observed his teammates as they all laughed at nothing. Takeo, the normally quiet and distant one of the four, was rarely enjoying the moment, his eyes bright and wide and his cheeks flushed.

They were warm, inebriated, and in good humor.

Richtofen was sour, but he sipped at his own drink leisurely. How his stupid team could lounge around lazily and drunken while the undead breathed down their necks was beyond him. With enough alcohol, he grew more and more uncaring and empty-headed.

Sometime during the events, when the sun had set and the sky had darkened, Richtofen wandered off by the light of the dying fire the other men had passed out around, while leaving his own bottle behind. He wrapped his arms around himself to conserve what little heat remained, shivering at the chilly wind that swept past his exposed neck. His eyesight was blurry and his movements slurry and unsure, but he was able to find a somewhat comfortable place to sleep.

It was in that moment that the doctor found himself craving what he had denied himself for so long. He grumpily eyed his crotch, where his erection was pushing against painfully. "Vhere did you come from?" he muttered at it, torn between ignoring it and giving himself a cheap, quick release. Being around so many unshaven, dirty men did not present many opportunities for sexual arousal, but he was still a man—one with needs, at that.

With a sigh of reluctant decision, he undid his trousers. The relief of strain on it encouraged him, and he wrapped a hand around himself. The shock of cold flesh did nothing to deter, and almost instantly, he was bent over panting, working himself towards an unsatisfying finish.

Richtofen was cut off from his motions when a zombie abruptly tackled him to the ground, pinning him in place. It snarled and growled, gnashing its jaws at the doctor's terror-stricken face, the mere sounds that escaped its blood-logged throat sending a spine-tingling shock through his system. He kept his arms up to prevent the monster from closing its nasty teeth on his soft flesh. He hooked a leg around it and maneuvered his way to the top.

With this new position, Richtofen became light-headed at the rush of power that went through him. It was so easy to lose himself in killing these unjust creations of evil with a weapon in his hands, but rarely did he get the chance to enjoy overcoming his opponent with raw strength. It was overwhelming. His fingers curled around its limbs, and he grunted in the effort to keep it contained beneath him.

The zombie pushed at him, bucked, and flailed. It was mindless in its attempts to taste his juicy insides. Richtofen easily restrained it with his own body, his grin growing with every second. He released one of its arms so he can grope drunkenly around for his knife, which had been thrown from his belt when he had been surprised by the snarling beast below him.

With one quick lunge of his arm, he sank the Bowie knife into its crossed wrists and severing their ties to the rest of its body. He straddled its bucking thighs and smirked triumphantly down at the demonic face that roared furiously at him. He watched the gush of black blood that erupted from the wound he had created, his eyes slipping closed in ecstasy while it sprinkled his face with dark and foul-smelling flecks. His fingers swept through the resulting puddle and squeezed his erection with fervor.

A moan burst from the doctor's throat. He wished so desperately that this thing was alive. He preferred the warmth of living skin against his own and the crimson streaks of blood lubricating his arousal. It was easy to fantasize about sinking his erection deep into a living body that bled and hurt. He thrust eagerly into his clenched fist, his eyes wide open but seeing only what his mind created for him. His other gloved hand grasped and tore at rotted flesh and blood-soaked clothing without fully realizing what he was doing.

His fingers stroked and traced patterns up and down his erection, and he opened his mouth wide with his moans of pleasure. He vaguely felt himself grab at an unbeating heart, and the body below him struggled weakly for a few more seconds before falling limp and silent. The room, however, was filled with the doctor's screams. His eyes fluttered closed, and he collapsed tiredly on top of the destroyed and mangled area that was once a reanimated corpse. He took no mind, though, and after panting lightly and enjoying what remained of his orgasm, he rolled off the body and laid beside it as he would a lover.

He realized that the heart was still firmly within his fist, and he idly gave it a squeeze with a content, gore-encircled smile.


	9. Complications, Richtofen and Tank

**Disclaimer:** _Call of Duty: World at War_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:**_ Complications._

**Summary:** Tank sees Richtofen about boards to repair a barricade and ends up receiving more than he sought.

**Story Pairing:** Edward Richtofen/Tank Dempsey.

* * *

Crazed laughter sliced through the companionable silence that had descended upon Der Riese, piercing the sensitive ears of the battle-hardened soldiers contained within it.

A loud groan escaped the American, who dropped the bullets he was fiddling with. "Damn it, can he ever keep that craziness to himself? It's hard to concentrate with that shit goin' on."

"Who knows?" Nikolai replied, sighing with agitation. "With Nazi, it is hard to tell."

"I too find it difficult to focus," Takeo added.

They fell quiet for a moment, all sitting around a table they had found lying around. For chairs, they used flat pieces of machinery that weren't being used, along with piles of massive, dusty instruction manuals written in German. No doubt they belonged to Richtofen, but while he wasn't around to complain about how they were treating them, it didn't matter to the three other men.

Tank perked up when he heard the tell-tale scraping of fingernails against the boards, the groaning of boards being forced out of their secure places, and the gurgling noise that came from a throat logged with blood. He growled lowly, rising from his seat to slink over to a nearby barricade around a corner. Sure enough, there was a zombie desperately ripping down the boards, craving the flesh of the living.

He raised his MP40 and trained it on the head, knowing that the fastest and most efficient way to kill these things was to aim for a headshot. With a pull of the trigger for a couple seconds, bullets carved their way through the decayed features of the undead creature. It fell to the ground behind the barricade with a dull thud, silenced.

He threaded a hand through his blonde hair. "Do we got any more boards?"

"Uhh, you might want to check with Nazi on that," Nikolai answered. "He never restocked piles of boards around windows after last horde."

"Great," the American grumbled. He holstered his MP40 and climbed the staircase that would take him to the bridge past Juggernog. The doctor was somewhere in the depths of the rooms on the other side of the bridge, no doubt hearing voices again, the schizo.

"Doc! Doc, where are you? I need more boards!" Tank called, stepping off the bridge. He made his way past the Double Tap machine (that they never utilized) and peered into the dim room behind it. He didn't see the man, so he descended the staircase to his right that would take him to the furnace below. Sure enough, he found the doctor crouched in front of it, staring fixatedly into the low flames that did nothing to keep them warm.

Tank stood awkwardly off to the side, watching the Nazi for any signs of movement. There were none; he was frozen in his position, eyes locked on something that Tank knew he couldn't see.

His ears picked up on some murmuring in German coming from Richtofen eventually. Slowly, the Nazi rose out of his kneeling, his bones creaking loudly in protest, hinting to the amount of time he had spent in that same spot.

"Doc?"

"Ja?" Richtofen inquired calmly, folding his arms behind his back, as if he hadn't been displaying the behavior of an ill person for the last two hours, with his high-pitched laughter and whatnot.

"Er… Can you tell me where the boards are for repairing the barricades? There aren't any around."

"I'll get to it," he dismissed with a wave of his hand, making his way past Tank.

The American's hand shot out and grabbed a hold of the Nazi's upper arm, holding him in place. "No, Doc, we need them now. One of the barricades is missin' a lot of boards."

Richtofen glanced at the hand wrapped around his arm. "I said I vould get to it."

"Well, maybe I don't like how you do things. Why don't you tell us where the boards are so we can get them ourselves from now on?"

"I don't vant you snooping around." Richtofen narrowed his eyes, not enjoying where this conversation was heading. "Just vorry about your assigned tasks, and everyzhing vill be okay."

"Secretive bastard!" burst out from Tank. "We've been here for so long together. Don't you think you can trust us a little more than that?"

"Nein, I don't zhink I can."

Tank growled warningly. "Tell me where you keep things."

"Nein."

The American spun Richtofen around so he was fully facing him. He stood over him threateningly. "Richtofen…"

"I don't trust you. Stay vhere I have put you."

"What will make you trust us, then? We're in this together, you jackass. We're not gonna do anything."

Richtofen arched an eyebrow. He leaned forward into the other man's space until they were nearly touching. He stared down Tank. "Vhat vill make me trust you? It vould take years and years of dedication and cooperation. We vill be long gone from here before zhat happens."

"How about giving me something I _can_ do?"

A humorless laugh was his reply. "An easy route to trust? Vhat an American zhing to ask for."

Tank snarled, his lips nearly brushing against Richtofen's. He realized this and backed off a bit with slight embarrassment. He wanted to be intimidating, not intimate.

Richtofen quickly closed the distance, returning to his close proximity to the soldier's face. He gave him a cruel smile. "Do I make you nervous, American?"

"No, why the hell would you think that?" Tank spat, his annoyance with the stubborn Nazi growing with every word he spoke. "What does that have to do with telling me where the boards are?"

Richtofen raised an arm and trailed his fingertips over the man's forearm, which was exposed due to his sleeves being rolled up to his elbows. His other hand slid over his thigh with slight pressure so he could feel his movements. "Poor American. So easily riled up."

Tank winced at this contact, taking a couple steps back. He was dismayed to find that the doctor followed his every step immediately. "What the hell? Get away, you crazy bastard. We're not done discussin' those boards."

Richtofen flashed that small, wicked smile again. He buried his hands in the American's green military jacket, urging him forward. "Come now, American. You're having trouble vith some closeness. How could I ever trust someone as veak as you?"

Tank's grimace grew. He turned his head away from Richtofen when the man got too close again. "This isn't how someone fuckin' tests how trustworthy another person is, you know."

Richtofen brushed the back of his hand against Tank's cheek wordlessly, snaking an arm around his waist.

"I-if it's _sex_ you want—"

The doctor barked out his laughter, burying his face in the American's neck. "_Vhat?_"

"That's what I figured with how you've got your hands all over me," Tank explained dryly, shying away from the touches.

Richtofen's lips brushed against the slightly sweaty skin in front of him, not bothering to reply. His hand grabbed a fistful of blonde hair and tugged it backwards, forcing him to bare his neck. The other hand that was on his waist slid downwards until it cupped Tank's backside.

Tank let out a noise of displeasure, struggling to jerk away but lost a couple strands of hair in the process from the tight grip Richtofen had had on his head.

"Goddamn it—the boards?"

"_Fuck_ zhe boards."

Tank's eyebrows shot into his hairline. A foot was hooked around his ankle and forced him to lose his balance. He tumbled backwards to the floor, the German man landing heavily on top of him. He found his neck being ravished by lips and teeth, the scraping against the sensitive skin making him shudder. "What—_what the fuck?_"

Richtofen twisted a leg around his, pressing them fully together. His hands skillfully undid the buttons of Tank's military jacket, wrenching it open to reveal his white sleeveless undershirt that clung to his toned chest. He rubbed their lower halves together, letting out a breathy groan.

"Christ, Doc, what the…" Tank trailed off, biting back a pleasured noise at the feeling of the other man pressed so intimately against him. He stubbornly left his arms at his sides, desiring nothing more than to leave—but finding himself unable to move away. Damn Nazi. Tank was _deprived_.

Richtofen mumbled something in German to him, his eyes falling shut, his teeth gritting as he rutted against him again. He wrapped his lips around a patch of skin on his neck, choosing this time to suck on it. His teeth dug into the bruising flesh, drawing blood, which was immediately lapped up by a blood-hungry Nazi.

Tank hissed at the sharp pain at his neck and finally forced his arms up and placed them on his molester. He followed his earlier example and slid a hand down to grip the firm backside of the other man. He pressed downwards, increasing the pressure between them. He was vaguely satisfied when Richtofen's mouth fell open in a moan. Something in German once again.

Tank's legs spread a bit more to give the doctor room to work. He was rewarded with another rut that sent pleasurable tingles from his groin, spreading outwards. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and knocked the hat from the Nazi's head with the hand that wasn't busy squeezing his cheeks. His hand buried itself in the brown, graying hair.

He willed his hips to move, to intensify the feelings gained from the contact of their groins. He soon found himself desperately bucking his hips against Richtofen's, eager to achieve a release.

His toes curled in his boots, he was gasping loudly, his eyes fell closed, pleasure exploded—

Richtofen sat up, leaving him lightheaded and unable to comprehend anything. Tank blindly reached for the German to try to finish what they had started because his whole body was tense and ready for it.

The doctor stood a bit shakily, obviously very much aroused, and returned to his place in front of the furnace.

"W-what… the hell…" Tank gasped out, furious and painfully aroused.

"Veak, poor American," Richtofen chided. "Zhat vas much too easy. You could have been killed vithout any effort. I don't trust you. Vork on it, vill you?"

Tank glared up at the ceiling, worming a reluctant hand into his trousers after a long moment of hesitation, hearing the doctor mutter something about monkeys to the fire. Next time, _Nikolai's_coming to ask about the boards.


	10. Complications, Richtofen and Nikolai

**Disclaimer:** _Call of Duty: World at War_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** _Complications._

**Summary: **A window's in need of repairing again, and with Tank still mentally and emotionally suffering from his last encounter with Richtofen, Nikolai is sent to collect the boards.

**Story Pairing:** Edward Richtofen/Nikolai Belinski.

* * *

"Where have you been?" demanded Nikolai when Tank shakily descended the curved staircase into the Animal Testing Lab, reclaiming his seat on a stack of stained, yellowed German manuals. "Do you have boards yet? That window has been violated more than once since you have been gone. The boards are there no longer."

"Uhm." Tank threaded a hand through his mused blonde hair, giving the curious Russian and Japanese an uneasy stare. "I don't have 'em."

"Why not?" the Japanese questioned quietly, his Type 100 firmly in his grasp.

Tank then noticed that they were both splashed with blood and looking a bit weary. Ignoring the question, he posed his own. "'More than once,' huh? Goddamn. How many zombies have you gone through? I was only gone for about twenty minutes!"

"You should have seen it!" burst from Nikolai's chapped lips. "Zombies… fused together! Such as… such as… having been exposed to…" he fished for the words, shaking his head, a haunted look in his eyes. "It was a most terrible thing to witness. Vicious fuckers also."

Takeo nodded once when Tank turned his incredulous gaze on him.

"Sounds… Fuck, that's just creepy." Tank laughed despite himself.

"The boards?" the Japanese inquired again.

The American's Adam's apple bobbed in his throat while he swallowed his mirth, filling again with dread. He glanced off to the side several times, opening his mouth and closing it a couple seconds later, until he finally crackled out an answer in the form of a lie. "R-Richtofen asked that Nikolai get 'em. He don't trust me."

Nikolai's eyes popped open, and his jaw dropped. "Why the _fuck_ would he trust me any more than you?"

"Hell if I know. Ya better go get 'em though," Tank told him with a serious expression. "I'll stay here with Takeo and defend the fort from your mutated zombies." He pondered that. It seemed a bit redundant. He shook his head lightly.

Nikolai turned his head from Tank to Takeo, receiving only silence. With a sigh, he raised himself from the broken metal box he had been resting on, his stiff joints popping from the effort, and made his way over to the staircase that would take him up to the bridge. He crossed it and entered into the room that Richtofen sometimes chose to store his important papers in. He immediately took a right, hearing the doctor's voice coming from below near where the useless furnace was housed.

He stepped down from the last stair, turning to face Richtofen, who was currently scratching letters into the wall with something dark and giggling to himself, sputtering out German phrases.

"Er—Nazi?" Nikolai interrupted, slightly disturbed.

Richtofen paused, falling quiet. After nearly ten seconds, he spun on his heel to lock eyes with the Russian. A zombie's hand fell from his grasp, rolling away behind the furnace. "Vhat is it? I am terribly busy."

"The American told me that you wanted me to get boards for repairing of window."

Richtofen quirked an eyebrow, one side of his mouth twitching into a small smirk. "Did he, now?"

"He did. Where are boards? I need to get back and make repairs quickly."

The Nazi surveyed him for a moment, still harboring that small smirk on his face. His eyes trailed up and down the Soviet with slow movements that filled Nikolai with the urge to shudder in disgust—he felt like a mere specimen to those sharp eyes.

Before Nikolai had realized it, the Nazi had taken a couple steps forward and was far closer than he had wanted the insane man to be to him. To remedy this, he took a few steps backwards. He was growing impatient with the lack of response. "Boards?"

The Nazi snapped his eyes from somewhere around Nikolai's right forearm to his tired, baggy eyes. "You all ask for zhese stupid boards. Is zhat all you can say? 'Vhere is zhe boards, vhere is zhe boards?'"

"What the hell?" Nikolai arched his brows at the harsh tone. "That is not all we talk about. It is necessity right now."

"Hmm." Richtofen's brief look of annoyance dropped from his face, replaced by that coy smirk. He lowered his eyelids halfway, peering at the slightly shorter man with dark interest. "You are right. Zhe only zhing I hear from you usually relates to your precious vodka."

Not waiting for a reply from the tense Soviet, Richtofen began taking a few steps closer, causing Nikolai to retaliate with a few steps backward of his own, effectively cornering him.

The Nazi doctor would not admit it, but the little encounter with Tank had left him painfully aroused and wishing he had continued dry humping him on the floor until he had reached his release, but because he had a point to make at the time, his pleasure had to wait.

However, this new prey falling into his grasp was perfect. He didn't have a point to make to the Soviet. The Soviet was already scum to the Nazi and would never be considered trustworthy. Ever. And as much of scum as he was, he was still a warm, living being with sexual capabilities (or so he assumed) of his own. That was good enough for Richtofen.

He wanted to toy with the Russian first though, as it sweetened the whole experience significantly for him in the long run. Foreplay was always his favorite.

The doctor stepped close enough to trap him against the wall but far back enough that only their clothing slightly brushed. This close, he was able to read that nervous expression well. It was delicious.

"Fuck off!" Nikolai growled, hating the close proximity of his sworn enemy more and more with every second they stood in the same spots.

Richtofen leaned forward a bit, his eyes never leaving the Soviet's. He let out a slow breath, watching as Nikolai's tongue darted out to wet his incredibly dry lips, preparing for more speech. To prevent this, the Nazi's hand darted up and his index finger pressed against them, calling for silence.

Smirking, Richtofen's other hand slid up Nikolai's thigh, cupping it and stroking the heavy material that encased the warm flesh.

Nikolai made a noise of anger, his eyes flashing dangerously. He opened his mouth to curse, but Richtofen darted forward and brushed his lips against the chapped ones, causing the Russian to freeze in shock. He rubbed his thin nose against Nikolai's, turning his head to fully press their lips together firmly.

The Soviet was having trouble moving his limbs while the doctor kissed him, turning rough with his movements, his tongue darting out to retrace the slight wetness that had been left by Nikolai's own tongue just a moment ago, tasting bitter, lingering vodka.

The hand that was on Nikolai's thigh began hiking up further, and Richtofen was forced to part lips with the other man's unresponsive ones so he could pant out his need, his abdomen pooling with warmth and blood erecting him.

Nikolai let out a strangled groan at the feel of the Nazi's knee lifting and parting his legs so that his groin could be groped at. As much as he hated the doctor, he couldn't deny that this didn't excite him considerably. His breathing quickened accordingly.

Richtofen picked up on Nikolai's sudden change of attitude with masked sadistic glee. He put his lips to one of his ears, whispering seductively, "Zhe Soviet likes zhis, ja?"

"F-fuck!" Nikolai yelped, when the friendly hand snaked down his trousers to nestle against him. He smacked his head back against the wall, arching his hips. It was interesting behavior for the doctor to spectate on.

Nikolai's arms were still boneless at his sides, and he was drooping against the corner behind him, supported only by his shaking legs and the eager Nazi that was pressed against him, a knee between his thighs.

He hated himself for it, but it felt too damn good to pass up. All he had time for was eating, shitting, sleeping, and killing lately. Where did sex fit into that?

While the doctor was observing his groin closely, his brows knitted together in concentration, Nikolai took the time to better examine the Nazi doctor, noting the considerable bulge in his SS uniform. He loathed the man, but this would be a lot more interesting if he participated.

Nikolai shifted to a more comfortable, relaxed position on the wall and let out a quiet breath in response to Richtofen's slow, lingering touches. He knocked the man's hat off of his head, ignoring the slight protests, and gripped a handful of graying brown hair. The hair was ripped upwards, bringing Richtofen face-to-face with the grinning Soviet.

Richtofen quirked a brow at him, pausing his movements below, waiting for him to act.

Nikolai faltered for a moment, unsure of how to proceed, though he did not allow his grin to leave his lips to make it obvious that the confidence he was showing outwardly was not within him. Now that he was up close and personal to that thin, sharp face, he was finding it difficult to ease his nerves and find the courage to take care of his sexual desires.

Richtofen, being the intelligent doctor he was and having the sharp senses that he did, picked up on this immediately when the Russian's hands began to lightly shake without his permission.

"Poor little Russian," the Nazi whispered. "Perhaps I should take control of zhis. I know vhat we both need…"

Nikolai remained speechless, even when the Nazi plucked the hand that wasn't buried in his hair from his side and brought it up to his mouth. The doctor could see from the distinctive red that adorned the Soviet's hand that it had been splashed with the blood of many in the last slaughter of the undead. He wondered how it tasted.

He stuck his tongue out and, in Nikolai's sights, curled it around his index finger and lapped at the crimson dried fluid. It was bitter, like the Russian's own taste. He was addicted immediately. Within seconds, the entire finger was inside the Nazi's mouth and being erotically sucked on, a wriggling tongue massaging the digit.

Nikolai groaned in response to this new attention, hating the fact that something that wasn't exactly plain sex was turning him on even more. Damn Nazi… His fist tightened within the Nazi's hair, ready to yank the head away should he choose to bite.

Richtofen, locking eyes with the Russian, displaying utter confidence in what he was doing, took another finger into his mouth, showing it the same attention as the first one.

Nikolai desperately whined, sliding his hand down the side of Richtofen's face, shoulder, arm, side, until he reached his hip, tugging it closer to his own, aligning their groins. He thrust himself against Richtofen's equally excited self, letting out a harsh breath.

"From your breathing patterns, heart rate, and flushed skin, I can tell zhat you are very aroused," the doctor told him playfully. "Though it is very obvious from your erection zhat you are."

"Shut up, Nazi," Nikolai muttered without conviction.

Richtofen leaned forward and pressed his thin, cold lips against the Russian's own plump, chapped, warm ones. He kept them there, sliding a hand up his military coat and undergarments to his nipples. He pinched at them passionlessly, humming a made-up tune as he did so.

A growl escaped the Soviet's lips, the vibrations of their vocalizations meeting between their connected lips. He wondered what the Nazi's own frame was like underneath all of that heavy clothing. He seemed to be frail but displayed incredible strength, especially when toting large machine guns around.

He decided to find out and snaked his idle hand upon Richtofen's hip into his coat and underneath layers of clothing, finally reaching surprisingly warm skin. His rough fingers drifted upwards, over ribs that strained against taut skin. Just as he had thought, the man was unhealthily thin.

He backtracked downwards and bluntly penetrated the man's trousers, wrapping snuggly around the engorged flesh within.

He secretly delighted in the gasp that came from the doctor.

"Oh, zhat is a vonderful feeling!" Richtofen exclaimed, his legs going weak despite his earlier taunting of the Soviet's state of arousal. He clung to Nikolai, giggling nervously as the Russian groped around.

Nikolai was amused despite the situation. He rubbed roughly, nearly laughing out loud when the doctor let out a high-pitched squeal.

"Mmm, oh, Russian, you are very skilled vith your hands. Oh, ja…" Richtofen babbled, his eyes falling closed and knees knocking together.

Nikolai was fascinated by the responsiveness of the Nazi and was unable to look away. He had to see what the man looked like during his release. He made a loose fist around him and jerked steadily up and down.

Richtofen's lips parted, and his breathing became significantly heavier and faster. His arms looped around Nikolai's neck, and he sagged against him. "Ahhh, ja! Mmm, Russian, keep going…"

The Russian had no intention of stopping now. He continued, increasing his pace, his groin pooling with warmth just by watching the Nazi get off.

Richtofen's eyes shot open, staring through Nikolai, and his entire body tensed, his hands forming a death-grip on the Russian's collar. He grit his teeth for a moment before crying out loudly, nearly sobbing in German.

Nikolai felt his hand become sticky with warmth, and the Nazi fell against him, panting heavily, his grip becoming looser as the seconds ticked past. The Soviet wrapped an arm around the man's small waist to keep him upright.

The Russian ground his teeth together, painfully hard and suffering from the realization that he was extremely turned on by what he had just done and witnessed.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, Richtofen let out a steadying breath and shifted his weight off of Nikolai and onto his own legs. He gave him a cool look, folding his hands stoically over his chest. "You can leave now."

The Russian immediately became angry. "This is bullshit! You have to do something for me now!"

"I do not have to do anyzhing," Richtofen reminded him. He dropped his hands to his sides and looked around for a moment, suddenly remembering. "Oh! I do have somezhing to give you, actually."

Nikolai calmed himself, preparing for something rewarding. He eagerly arched his hips.

Richtofen bent over and retrieved something from near the furnace. He returned to Nikolai, grabbing his hand. He placed the object in the center of his palm, stepping back in satisfaction.

Nikolai stared at what was in his hand. "What—"

"Make your repairs, Russian."

Richtofen had given him a fucking wood _chip_. It made him wonder what exactly they would have to do for an entire _board_. He was sent away with his reward to his baffled and slightly upset comrades without an answer.


	11. Oriental Massage, Takeo and Tank

**Disclaimer:** _Call of Duty: Black Ops_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title: **_Oriental Massage._

**Summary:** Takeo offers to give a stiff-muscled Tank a good ol'-fashioned oriental massage with interesting results.

**Story Pairing:** Takeo Masaki/Tank Dempsey, suggested Edward Richtofen/Nikolai Belinski.

* * *

Tank groaned loudly, awkwardly reaching behind himself to clutch at a particularly painful muscle that was giving him walking problems. He lagged behind his three other teammates, who were currently headed to the theater to engage in some teleporting to upgrade weapons in the oh-so helpful Pack-a-Punch machine in the room above the theater with the projector inside. Also, it would give them a chance to rustle around in those dusty film reels and see if there was anything worth watching while they waited for another horde of zombies to attack.

"Hurry it up, Dempsey!" Nikolai called over a shoulder, leaping into the teleporter with excitement. It always gave him such a rush, and he looked forward to these uses of it. And nobody, especially the American, was going to hold him up.

Richtofen, casting a curious eye on the limping Dempsey, wondered if he was injured enough to serve as an experiment. He slowed his pace, stroking his chin in thought as he observed the Marine.

Takeo, who had taken his place beside the impatient Russian in the teleporter, also examined his American teammate with a critical eye. He was no stranger to these sorts of things.

"I'm comin', I'm comin'!" Dempsey grumbled, hobbling forward past Richtofen. He clutched his back with more force, hoping that the pressure of his grip would numb the pain and allow him to walk normal again. He took his spot in the back of the teleporter, wanting to avoid the stares of the other three men. It was a bit unnerving to be analyzed that much when it was a simple problem. He was fine.

Richtofen suddenly decided that he had other things to attend to and tossed his MP40 to Nikolai, asking him to upgrade it for him.

"Fine, fine, but you owe me, Nazi," he was reminded.

"Ja, I am aware. Now get going." Richtofen slapped a button on the teleporter, sending them on that spiraling, nauseating trip to the Pack-a-Punch machine.

As soon as they had materialized in said room, Tank stumbled, struggling to regain his balance and biting his lip at the sharp pain this movement produced. This was getting ridiculous. He needed someone to walk on his back or something…

Nikolai tapped his foot loudly as Takeo carefully inserted his gun into the precious machine, commenting on how it was like standing in a grocery store line while waiting for his turn to get a couple of those incredible, intriguing guns that were spat back out.

Takeo, having retrieved his newly shiny and upgraded gun, made his way over to where Tank was hunched over, unslinging his Galil from his side.

"It appears as if you need a most soothing massage," Takeo told him with a serious face. "It would be most dishonorable of you to deny my offer. Meet with me upstairs after you have upgraded your weapon." He gave these instructions to a disbelieving Tank quietly through the sounds of Nikolai ranting about all of the zombies he was going to kill now.

With that, he disappeared, the teleporter calling him back to the lobby.

Tank shook his head, going over to the Pack-a-Punch machine to upgrade after Nikolai had finished with Richtofen's MP40.

* * *

Letting out a small groan when he had reached the final step, he turned and exited the upstairs lobby, going into the very next room. He glanced around, confusedly searching for the Japanese man. "This is bullshit. The fucker invites me, and he doesn't even hold up his end? Must have been a joke…"

"I assure you, I do not joke," Takeo muttered behind him, popping a couple of his knuckles idly.

Tank spun around, biting back a cry of pain at the horrible sensations that erupted.

The Japanese man shook his head at this, picking up a table he had temporarily set down next to him when he had noticed that the American had showed up and was doubting him. He carried it easily further into the room and to the balcony overlooking the theater. Setting the table down and shaking it a bit to test its durability, he peered over the edge of the balcony railing to check on the other members of their team.

Nikolai was lounging in one of the reclining theater chairs far below them, stroking and tracing the designs on his Zeus Cannon. The echoing thumps of Richtofen's Nazi boots resounded throughout the theater, alerting Nikolai to his approach. He thrust the Afterburner out towards the Nazi wordlessly.

"Oh, thank you, my Russian friend," Richtofen exclaimed sweetly. He immediately seated himself to the Russian's right, leaning uncomfortably close with a grin, which Nikolai returned with less enthusiasm and more nervousness.

Takeo pulled himself away from the scene, disinterested. He motioned with a couple fingers that Tank should get on top of the table had had set down.

With a sigh, Tank shuffled over and heaved himself on top of the table with a grimace and small exhalation of pain.

"Lie on your front, please."

Gratefully, Tank eased himself into the position that Takeo had requested, relieved at the stress that was taken off of his injured back muscles.

Takeo was about to request that Tank help him remove the American's Marine jacket, but he was cut off at the sound of Nikolai laughing boisterously. He glanced over the balcony again to observe the behaviors of his teammates.

Richtofen was grinning largely from ear to ear, and Nikolai was slapping his back, laughter erupting from his lips.

"Nikolai likes! That is hilarious! The American really did that?"

Takeo amusedly watched as Tank grit his teeth and groped for his weapon.

Richtofen nodded eagerly. He relaxed a bit, humor fading. "Let's go out to zhe alleyway, Russian." He trailed a couple fingers over Nikolai's arm suggestively, who eyed this with suspicion.

"All right… but try nothing funny."

"Of course. I am innocent. After you."

Enjoying this new development, Takeo returned his attention to his American ally. "I think it would be best if you removed your shirt."

The Marine gave him a dirty look. "I don't think so, Jap. No 'under-the-clothes' stuff."

With a sigh, Takeo slid a knife out of his boot, flipping it idly in the air a couple times, threatening him. "I will ruin your clothing if that is what you want. However, I suggest that you cooperate should you wish to keep your clothing in usable order."

Grumbling, Tank eased himself upwards a little so that he could wiggle out of his green jacket. The Japanese man moved forward to assist, tugging the rough clothing off, leaving Tank in his white tank top and jingling dog tags. A quick look at the stoic Asian man confirmed that he wanted that off as well. "The dog tags stay," Tank growled possessively.

"I do not understand the American soldier's attachment to a couple pieces of metal, but that is fine. The white shirt will need to be removed though."

Tank wasn't happy with this, but he grunted, allowing the other man to pull the shirt up and over his head. It was carelessly tossed aside, on top of the abandoned jacket.

Takeo scanned the expanse of exposed, muscled tan flesh with a blank face. Outwardly, he displayed no interest in the obnoxious soldier, but inwardly, he was grinning foolishly and eager for what was to come. Kind of like how Richtofen was eagerly busy with—well, that wasn't important at the moment.

He cracked his knuckles in preparation, leaning forward, deciding on where to begin. He gently pressed his closed fists in random spots along the American's defined back, listening for any verbal signs of pain.

He pressed along Tank's lower back and paused when he let out a strangled groan. He had found where the pain was centered around, but he had no intention of relieving the man of his agony. He passionlessly rubbed circles into his lower back, quietly climbing atop the table with him.

Tank perked up when the table began groaning in protest from the extra weight, and he turned his head to see what was going on. He found himself staring at a confident smirk and shaven chin.

"What the hell—" Tank was cut off by a pair of lips hungrily devouring his own. They were relentless, and it didn't take long for a tongue to be nudging in between his lips, seeking entry without consent. The American would have gasped out at this sudden onslaught, but doing so would allow the Japanese bastard easy access to his mouth, and he wasn't that stupid. He remained silent but with his lips pursed together as tight as he could.

Takeo didn't approve of this action, so he settled himself down onto Tank, his groin aligning with the man's rear, and he mercilessly dug a couple fingers into the sore spot of his lower back.

Tank couldn't bite back the curse that parted his lips for the Asian man, and he found himself getting intimate with the taste of the foreign man. His neck strained from the position it was in, but Takeo kept him from turning his head with one hand, his fingers buried in his skin and drawing blood.

Slowly, the Japanese man ground his hips against Tank's backside, curling his tongue around the other man's unresponsive one impatiently. It was like kissing a corpse, and that wasn't something he did while he was sober.

Tank hated this position. He wasn't the receiver, _damn it!_ But he sure as hell wasn't taking it from a Jap, even if said Jap readily stood by his side and slaughtered zombies every day. He bucked his hips with a surge of his abdominal and back muscles, crying out at the ripping sensation bursting from his lower back.

Takeo muttered in distaste in his native language from his sprawled out pose upon the cold, unforgiving floor.

Tank forced himself up to his feet, snatching his clothing from the ground in anger. "I ain't fuckin' bein' your toy, Jap."

"Next time you are attacked by a zombie and are helpless on the ground, I am not helping," Takeo told him with a twitch of his brow.

"That's all right. I'm too awesome to get attacked."

Suddenly, a delighted squeal tolled out, ringing painfully in their ears. Richtofen bounded into the theater in absolute glee, his arms in the air, his head thrown back with an expression of ecstasy pure on his features.

Tank and Takeo shuffled over to the balcony railing in confusion to see what the Nazi doctor was so happy about.

"_Ahhh_, my prediction came true! _Zhe zombies!_ Zhey are falling from zhe ceiling!"

Tank had only a second to snap his gaze up to the ceiling above them to see bloodthirsty, snarling Nazi zombies crawling through holes. They began to rain down around them violently, easily climbing back to their feet, appearing rather hungry and vicious.

Takeo smiled, turning on his heel and making his way (quickly) out of the room and down the staircase of the lobby, leaving a half-unclothed, injured American to curse loudly and grab for his gun and fight for his life.

Next time, assuming the man lived, he'd think twice about denying Takeo's kisses.


	12. Papers, Richtofen and Tank

**Disclaimer:** _Call of Duty: World at War_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** _Papers._

**Summary: **Richtofen wonders what has happened to some of his research papers and interrogates the American.

**Story Pairing:** Edward Richtofen/Tank Dempsey.

* * *

Richtofen smoothed down his military uniform absentmindedly with a casual brush of his hand as he pulled aside the top page of the pile he was currently hunched over, examining with a feeling of nostalgia. His eyes flicked back and forward in concentration, taking in the German notes scribbled by his own hand. He marveled at his own thoughts inscribed in the margins of the paper, gaining insight as to what had been running through his mind when he had been writing this _fantastisch_ report.

He discarded that one off to the side before returning his attention to the pile once again.

He paused, his lips twitching briefly. He lifted the paper he had read and scanned the one below it. Picked up that one and beheld the one beneath that one. Angrily scattered the pile all over the table, eyes roving over the pages with the speed of a practiced surgeon.

"Vhat the _hell_ happened?" he roared, upturning the rickety wooden table with a crash. He stomped out of the room, alerting his companions to his presence as he entered the mainframe. His boots fell with every step, threatening to break the delicate bones within them with the force applied.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Tank called confusedly when he looked up from his MG42 that he was toying with.

Richtofen seethed, ascending the steps to the teleporter in front of the Pack-a-Punch machine. "Can any of you tell me vhat happened to my research? I am missing papers from zhe pile."

Takeo, who was seated to the left of the weapon-upgrading machine, shook his head silently. He had not a clue what the doctor was referring to.

Richtofen watched suspiciously as Tank and Nikolai exchanged a second-long glance.

Nikolai waved his hand. "I know not what you speak about."

Tank shrugged helplessly. "Sorry, Doc. Can't help you with that. Maybe the freakbags got a hold of 'em when they came chargin' through."

"I seriously doubt zhat since I had kept zhe papers in a filing cabinet," the doctor told him flatly, folding his arms across his chest. "Zhey are not smart enough to open it."

There was an awkward silence while the two soldiers thought of something to say in response to that.

"Maybe you… misplace them?" Nikolai suggested, taking a swig of his vodka.

"I do not misplace zhese papers. Zhey are of zhe utmost importance to me."

"Ah, hell, Doc, who knows what you did with them? You do crazy shit all the time. Maybe you went into one of your rants and lost them." Tank threaded his hand through his hair distractedly. "...You are a bit of a nutjob, ya know."

Richtofen leveled a glare at him. "Zhat does not happen."

"Bullshit. You came in here stomping like a pissed off teenager when you found out that you had lost a few papers. Big deal."

With a huff, Richtofen turned on his heel and headed towards the Animal Testing Lab once again. He did not misplace his research. His precious research. Everything he had ever recorded about his marvelous experiments. It was too important to him to be "misplaced." One of those men had something to do with the disappearance. He was sure of it.

* * *

Tank rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. "Uh, maybe that wasn't the greatest idea…"

"You suggested it. I just went along with it," Nikolai told him, shaking his head. "You were one that said he would not mind."

"How the hell would I know somethin' like that? We needed somethin' to wipe. It's not my fault that he didn't specify where the toilet paper was."

Nikolai sighed, hunching forward. "What do you think he do to us when he find out we ruined his research? And why did you go through his things?"

"He won't find out. We're not going to tell 'im. And that Tojo bastard isn't either 'cause he doesn't know about it. Who's gonna tell him? The freakbags?" Tank let out a bark of laughter at the thought, struggling to ease his jumbled nerves. Richtofen was _pissed_. That freak creeped him out enough without looking like someone had murdered his best friend. "I went through his stuff 'cause it was the only filing cabinet in this place. Filing cabinets have papers, get it?"

"And you find papers in German and decide, 'What the hell?'"

"Hey! You're just as guilty as I am. You got a good look at the papers before going to take a shit. Don't blame me completely for this."

Nikolai grunted in response. "Well, there is not much we can do now. Except try to survive wrath of Nazi."

"Who isn't gonna find out," Tank added quickly.

"We can only hope, my American comrade. We can only hope."

* * *

With brisk, rapid strides, Richtofen paced the length of the room, fuming silently. He felt like screaming, like breaking things, like shooting his Wunderwaffe DG-2 at everything that moves, like… laughing hysterically until everything else had gone silent. He wanted to do all of those things at once, but he didn't.

He stopped, snapping his head to the side to stare out the nearest window at the rapidly dimming sky. It was almost nighttime and almost time to prepare for his night shift with Tank. While the Russian and Japanese were allowed sleep today, they had to wait until tomorrow night.

He wanted his research back that he had painstakingly perfected for so long. Nobody was allowed to touch it or look at it except for him.

He sat on the edge of the metal table he had replaced the sorry wooden one for, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. He felt the anger within him simmer, slowly dying down into nothing, leaving him feeling hollow inside.

How could he get the other men to talk? He was already suspicious of both Nikolai and Tank, seeing them exchange that look while he was asking about his research earlier that day. It's difficult to tell if the Japanese is lying or not, seeing as how he only has a single expression of cool nonchalance when not fighting against the zombies.

The American is always involved with these sorts of things. He's always the one that's guilty. He always screws up. Richtofen's lips thinned in his resolve. He was going to get some answers out of that man.

* * *

"Hey, Doc, how's it goin'?" Tank greeted some time later, meeting up with him in the mainframe. Nikolai and Takeo were happily slumbering away in their respective hideouts, one on the catwalk in Teleporter C Room, and the other in the hallway leading to Juggernog.

"Tolerable," Richtofen answered dully. "Zhere is still a little matter zhat has not resolved itself."

Tank laughed awkwardly, and it sounded much too loud to his own ears. He coughed, shifting his weight to his other leg. "So, uh, should we start our rounds?"

Richtofen stared at him thoughtfully for a moment, successfully giving him the creeps. "No, I don't zhink so. Vhy don't you follow me?" He motioned with a couple fingers for the American to accompany him. They made their way to the bridge, crossing it into Teleporter B Room where the metal table and untidy papers rested.

"What are we doin' here?"

"Oh, no reason."

Tank watched Richtofen stalk around the table and to his filing cabinet on the far wall. He wrenched open a drawer that emitted a groan of disuse. He took out the objects contained within it, a pile of yellowed papers that were bound together with a strap of leather. He began reading from the top page, undoing the leather strap as he did. Rapid-fire German sprang from his lips as his frustration with the American built upon itself, oozing from every orifice.

Tank observed this helplessly and wordlessly.

Richtofen slammed the papers down onto the table with the others. He shoved the top page out of the way and skimmed the page below it, reciting it in a jumbled mess of foreign language that sounded shrill to Tank's ears.

The doctor flipped his way through the stack, taking random parts out of it and putting them into verbal words for the American to hear.

Finally, he stopped when he reached the bottom page, his eyes snapping up to lock with the other man's blue eyes. "Do you see? Zhis stack is complete! Every page is here! However," he swept his hand over the newer, whiter pieces of paper scattered over the metal surface, "however," he repeated, "zhis is incomplete."

"Doc, I really don't see what your point is…"

"I know you have somezhing to do vith zhis!" Richtofen growled out. He spat out something in German, and Tank was sure it was an insult of some kind.

"Whatever. Look, we have rounds to do, so why don't we forget about this research bullshit and—"

Tank was cut off when Richtofen appeared behind him before he realized he had moved, and he found himself shoved forward onto the metal table, bent over the edge, his face pressed firmly against the surface. His nose was assaulted by the scent of aged paper and ink, and he felt Richtofen's hand take purchase of the back of his neck, holding him solidly in place.

"What the hell are you doing?" Tank exclaimed, struggling against the tight grip of the Nazi. "Let me go!"

"I know you did somezhing vith my research," Richtofen repeated in a hiss, pressing himself against the panicking American. He bent down and placed his mouth near the soldier's ear. "You vill tell me vhat you have done vith it."

"I don't know what you're talkin' about!"

A noise of displeasure escaped the ticked off German doctor, and he drew himself up to full height. "If you insist on lying to me, I guess I vill need to punish you."

A high-pitched chortle was his response. "Punish me? What are you gonna do to a Marine?"

"Vell, zhere are plenty of zhings I could do to you. I could carve German proverbs into your skin vith a dull blade. I could scrape away zhe top layer of your flesh and bathe you in lemon juice. I could pull your teeth vhile you are still awake! Zhen, I vill get creative…"

Tank wasn't afraid of these threats, oh, no. Never. He had suffered through so much more in the past. However, when there is a psychopathic Nazi pressed against you from behind saying these threats, it worsens the situation significantly. He jerked a little in the other man's grasp.

"But I think I vill stick vith somezhing a little more common…" Richtofen trailed off. He held the moment in suspense while the Marine quivered slightly at the thought of what he was planning on doing.

The grip on his neck tightened a bit, threatening to strangle him while the unoccupied hand of the Nazi settled onto his hip. A knee was forced between his legs, parting them so that Richtofen could fully situate himself between them. The hand on his hip traveled down the front of his leg before backtracking up to his groin. The doctor's breathing became a bit shallow, and Tank was keenly aware of this and absolutely freaked out. Before he could voice his protests at this intimacy, the hand between his legs undid his pants and forced them down his legs.

"What the fuck—!"

"Quiet!" Richtofen cried out. "You musn't vake zhe others! Now try to stay very still…"

He eased down the man's underwear some. His hand was lifted from the warm flesh. It was suspended in midair for a couple seconds… before it was brought down sharply onto the backside of the American.

"Ow! What the—!"

_Slap!_ The hand came down again, smacking soundly against the skin. It lifted again and again, coming down again and again with increasing force and speed every time until Tank was writhing in the German's grasp.

"Ow! Ow! _OW!_ Stop!"

Richtofen was unrelenting in his spanking. "Tell me vhere my research is!" He added some more force to his blows, the sound of flesh hitting flesh echoing through the small room. He had always been rather good at this sort of thing and was well aware of how much it stung.

"I—I don't—_ow!_—know, damn it! _Ow!_"

"You can end zhis very easily," he was reminded nonchalantly.

Tank bit his lip harder with every slap he received, wishing he had something to grip… His hands slid over the surface of the table, searching. They closed around the papers Richtofen valued so highly and formed fists around them. The papers were crunched and crinkled up, alerting the doctor.

"Stop it!" he roared. "You're making zhings vorse for yourself!"

Tank pushed the papers off the table, gaining satisfaction at the sound of them hitting the floor and disorganizing themselves.

Finally, Richtofen's hand came down once more on glowing red cheeks and stayed there. His fingers danced lightly over the inflamed flesh. "Zhat vasn't very nice…"

Tank's lip had since split open from the teeth that had dug themselves into it, and blood spilled to the surface, dribbling down his chin. It pooled under his face. He glared at the far wall. "Fine…" he grumbled. "I'll tell you what happened to your goddamn papers."

"_Fantastisch!_ Vhere are they?"

"Me and Nikolai used your shitty research to wipe our asses. Are you fuckin' happy?"

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Tank wished he could see the look on that bastard's face. He could almost say he was happy to have finally told him what they had done.

"…Stay right here. I'll be back," Richtofen ordered after a long while. He removed himself from Tank and exited the room.

Hurriedly, Tank tugged at his pants, forcing himself up off the table. He stumbled towards the staircase that would take him back to the mainframe. He tripped over his pants and landed heavily on the floor. He ripped at his pants and underwear, trying both to crawl down the stairs and pull his clothing back on over his flaming, exposed cheeks. He couldn't believe he was just_ spanked_ by Richtofen. Disbelief was written all over his face.

His ankle was suddenly seized in a vicious grip, and he was dragged backwards up the stairs. The doctor kneeled over him, setting some of his pointy-looking tools on the ground around him.

"Vhere are you going, mein Hund? Ve're not finished yet…" Crazed laugher bubbled up from his throat and left his lips. He cackled madly, reaching for a scalpel. He laughed and laughed, increasing in volume the longer he was unable to control it, leaving him without a single breath.

As terrified as he was, Tank couldn't help but notice the sizeable bulge pressed against his backside as the doctor laughed his freaky head off. God_damn_.


	13. Bandages, Richtofen and Tank

**Disclaimer: **_Call of Duty: Black Ops_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title: **_Bandages._

**Summary: **Richtofen attempts to bandage Tank's wounds after a particularly tough batch of zombies.

**Story Pairing: **Tank Dempsey/Edward Richtofen.

* * *

He could feel the warm fluid underneath his clothing, causing the fabric to stick uncomfortably to his skin. He winced in pain with each step, with every swing of his gun at his side. His mind was wandering, and when he stumbled over a piece of debris, his teammates were alerted to how out of it the American really was. Tank was upset about how the last fight had gone, if his numerous injuries were any indication. He was scratched up and feeling disgusting with his blood drying all over him.

He shrugged Nikolai's hand off of his shoulder and limped towards a room of his own where he could fume in peace and try to rethink his future strategies. He did not want to show this kind of weakness in front of the others again, especially since he knew the Nazi doctor was laughing at him behind his back. It took all of his remaining strength not to spin around and punch the bastard in the face.

"Leave me alone, Nikolai." Tank sighed, stopping in his tracks when he realized someone was following him. Who else would it have been? Nikolai was the only one who ever seemed to show any sort of human feelings towards him. It made sense that the Russian would have followed him to see how badly he was injured.

"You are injured."

Tank's eyebrows furrowed, and he scowled at the floorboards beneath him. "Fuck off."

Richtofen came up beside him, his sharp green eyes scanning every inch of his body, breathing deeply the scent of blood that wafted off of him. He flicked his gaze up to meet the icy blue stare of the American. His fingers twitched within his black gloves.

"What do you want?"

"Let me assist you vith your injuries."

"Since when did you care?" Tank mocked, crossing his arms and regretting it when a sharp pain greeted him. He winced and gripped his upper arm.

Richtofen smirked at him, obviously enjoying seeing him in so much pain. "Let me assist you," he repeated. His hand settled on Tank's back, urging him forward with a slight push, encouraging him to take a seat on a nearby ripped, dusty couch.

Tank glared at the Nazi suspiciously, refusing to take his eyes off of him in case he tried something. He was going to be prepared when the other man withdrew a scalpel from his uniform and decided to give more cuts and scrapes to the already bleeding American.

"Vait here," Richtofen ordered before hurrying out in search of his bag of medical supplies.

While he was gone, Tank tried to assess the damage that had been done to him. He could count three places where the zombies had swiped at him and connected with his clothing, tearing through it and his skin easily. His upper arm, abdomen, and thigh were throbbing in pain from these attacks. His blood had seeped down through his clothing, staining it red and sticking it to his skin. He pinched his undershirt between two fingers and pulled it away from the cut on his abdomen, gritting his teeth as he ripped it from the torn flesh.

Tank began to focus on the one adorning his thigh, but the return of the slightly panting doctor interrupted him. He lifted his chin and stared the man down, observing as he set his bag of meager supplies down on the couch beside him.

Richtofen opened the bag and rifled through the assortment of things until he came upon a small bottle of alcohol and some bandages.

"All right, vhere does it hurt, Dempsey?" Richtofen inquired, placing his supplies beside the bag and kneeling beside the Marine.

Tank reluctantly pointed out the three spots that had been assaulted by the zombies.

"You should really try to be more careful," the doctor advised him with humor coloring his voice. He motioned for Tank to remove his upper clothing so he could get to two of the injuries.

Slowly, Tank shrugged off his military shirt, pausing when he had to unstick the shredded fabric on his arm from his skin. When Richtofen also told him to take off his dark undershirt, he grumbled and did so gingerly. His exposed torso was littered with scars; these new ones would fit in nicely.

Richtofen's eyes widened slightly in excitement at these jagged, (now) bleeding cuts. His eyes darted from one to the other, unable to decide which to start with. He wet his lips with a few swipes of his tongue and finally chose the one on Tank's upper arm. He snatched the undershirt from Tank and tore pieces of it off. He uncorked the bottle of alcohol and spilled a little onto a piece of cloth, nearing the cut with barely contained glee. He hoped Tank would gasp in pain...

Richtofen roughly rubbed at the cut with the alcohol, intentionally trying to put him into more pain—and Tank knew this. He flinched, rearing backwards to get his injury out of the hands of the blood-lusting Nazi. "What the hell? Don't be an asshole about it!"

"Vhat? I am merely trying to disinfect it," the Nazi replied innocently. He crawled closer, brandishing the bloodied cloth, which at the moment was the most terrifying sight Tank could have been exposed to. He yelped, leaning farther backwards in the couch.

"Stay still," Richtofen commanded, climbing onto the couch and towering over the Marine. He reached for the cut, his eyes attracted to the drops of blood sliding down the muscled arm of the soldier. From all of his frenzied movements, there was blood escaping all of his wounds, and Richtofen was getting excited from the view. He couldn't help himself, and he bent over, lowering his mouth until he was inches away from the bloody flesh of Tank's abdomen. His tongue traced the path of some blood all the way up to the wound, which he cleaned thoroughly.

Tank stared in disgust and shock at what the doctor was doing. He was frozen in place, wincing slightly at the feeling of his tongue poking around in his cut. "Doc—"

Richtofen locked eyes with him, licking his lips of any excess blood that had escaped him.

"Vhere... did you say your last cut vas?" Richtofen whispered, his hands shaking with passion.

"Uh... That's okay, Doc... I'll get it." Tank didn't like how he was pinned against the back of the couch with a psychotic Nazi on top of him.

Wordlessly, Richtofen lowered himself to the floor between Tank's spread thighs. His eyes homed in on the tear in his trousers and the blood stain. He placed his hands on the American's knees and smiled up at the terrified man.

"Zhese need to come off..."

Tank wondered if he was hungry for a little more than what he let on. He shook his head. "No. Work around it."

Richtofen pried apart the Marine's torn trousers at the rip, panting at the heavy scent of blood. He loved it... and he wanted the blood all over him. But he knew Tank would object to that while he was conscious. So he settled with laving it with his tongue and tasting the life-sustaining fluid.

Tank shivered at how _lovingly_ Richtofen cleaned his cut. It felt better than the alcohol, even if it was not disinfecting at all. He shifted in his spot, realizing that the Nazi was being comforting with every swipe of his tongue. He was trying to make him enjoy it...

How long would it take for him to get the American into this? There was potential. Maybe with time he'd let him slice into his muscled physique with a scalpel and rub the blood all over himself. He desperately wanted to bathe in it. Richfoten became aroused from these thoughts and let a small moan escape his throat. He swallowed thickly, the taste of blood heavy in his mouth.

Tank's ears perked up at the sound that came from the Nazi. He was definitely enjoying this too much. "Bandages... Richtofen?"

Those green eyes connected with his own blue ones, and Tank struggled to keep his expression neutral despite the blood smeared across Richtofen's mouth. Goddamn, what a disturbing sight...

Richtofen's eyelids drooped halfway, and he dreamily nodded. He groped around blindly for the bandages, not really intending to do anything useful with them. He returned to the wound on Tank's abdomen, licking eagerly while holding the bandages in his clenched fist.

His other unoccupied hand slid down Tank's thigh suggestively.

The Marine jumped when it brushed the front of his trousers. He gaped in disbelief and watched as the other man raised his head and began searching in his coat for something.

"Let me show you somezhing _really_ fun..." Richtofen trailed off, retrieving a scalpel from his uniform.


	14. Downtime, Tank-Richtofen-Nikolai

**Disclaimer: **_Call of Duty: Black Ops_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:**_ Downtime._

**Summary: **Richtofen is caught in the middle, and he finds himself enjoying it.

**Story Pairings: **Tank Dempsey/Edward Richtofen, Nikolai Belinski/Edward Richtofen.

* * *

"My ass… it is so numb. It feel like it is about to fall right onto ground."

"Thanks for sharin', Nikolai," Tank shot at the Russian, who promptly toppled forward onto the makeshift table (a crate) after his face had slipped off of his propped-up fist. Tank was too bored to even crack a smile at his teammate's expense. They were in a corner of the eerie Nazi cinema's dressing room.

"When are zombies coming?" Nikolai muttered, twirling a half-full bottle of vodka between the fingers of his right hand expertly, his face smashed against the crate still because he was too unmotivated to move into a more comfortable position.

"I told ya already. Richtofen claims he's held up the next hordes of zombies to give us some time to recover. And by 'us,' I mean Takeo, who broke a bunch of ribs, an arm, and a leg by fallin' out of the Pack-a-Punch projection room thingy a little while ago."

"Oh, yeah." Nikolai chuckled. "How did he do that, again?"

"I, uh, accidentally tripped over somethin' after upgradin' my Galil, and I knocked into him and used him to break my fall. I was safely inside the room, but that open window was too much for him."

Nikolai let out a bark of laughter. "And where is this tragic soul?"

"I think Richtofen has him upstairs somewhere. He's lurin' all the zombies out into the alleyway with live animals he's caught. I don't even see the point. He said something about wantin' to watch them eat. Fuckin' freak…"

The Russian let out a grunt of agreement. He had spent so much time in the Nazi's presence that his antics hardly fazed him anymore. But the American still insisted on bringing up every single abnormal thing that Richtofen did—and that was most of what they witnessed him doing, as he is very abnormal.

"Boredom has hit me hard, Nikolai," Tank said after a moment's pause. "I don't think I can take this. I need somethin' to do."

"Eh, what do you want me to do about it?"

"Strip and roll around in some broken glass. That'll keep me entertained for hours."

Nikolai let out a disbelieving laugh, but it was cut off when an explosive noise went off, cracking through the air and into their auditory passages like a whip, sudden and extremely painful. It sounded as if it had went off right beside them, but there was no heat that they could feel.

They both yelped and tumbled onto the floor behind the crate, clapping their hands over their ears and praying to any divinity that was listening. The sound died down pretty quickly, and they were left cowering awkwardly next to each other in the corner of the dressing room. They then heard very clearly the cackling of a clearly satisfied Nazi from the direction of the alleyway.

"Oh, ja! Zhat vas perfect!" the doctor screeched, tromping down the winding metal staircase to the theater, making as much noise as possible as he made his way across the stage and into the room where Tank and Nikolai were hiding fearfully.

Richtofen turned the corner and peered towards the window where he had last seen his two teammates, watching silently as they jumped up from the ground and seated themselves once again. Tank ripped a pack of cards out of one of his pockets and shakily opened them, spilling the deck all over the crate and floor.

Nikolai was the first to speak, staring at the Nazi, dumbfounded. "What the hell… did you do?"

Richtofen cracked a smile. "Vas just a little bomb. Zhat is all. Zhe zombies vill be missing for a little vhile, so I suggest you get comfortable."

The Soviet let out an obnoxious groan. "More waiting? Nikolai does not think he can handle this for any longer."

"Zhen you should take a nap."

"Fuck that. I will go enjoy what remains of my vodka." Their Russian comrade clamored to his feet and disappeared around the corner, leaving Tank and Richtofen alone.

Tank threw a sour look over at the Nazi doctor. "You're a freak, ya know that?"

"And you are an obnoxious American. Glad ve cleared zhat up," he retorted. Clasping his hands behind his back, he turned on his heel and followed in the direction of Nikolai.

Tank rolled his eyes, tossing the pack for his cards onto the crate, choosing not to bother with them. Bored. He was so _bored_. At this point, he was desperate to try anything to amuse himself.

"You drink a lot," Richtofen pointed out.

"You talk too much," Nikolai retorted, rubbing his temples. He had gone to one of the upstairs rooms to be alone, but to his dismay, he had found that he had a follower. "You do not need to follow Nikolai wherever he goes."

"I have not followed you. I merely happened to need to go zhe same vay as you did."

"Yeah, right..." the Russian mumbled to himself, propping himself against a banister and tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling, which was sporting some nasty-looking holes.

Richtofen took a few steps towards the doorway they hadn't come through, which would lead to another room, which would lead to yet another room that housed a heavily injured Japanese man. He had been planning to check on him, seeing as he was the only doctor available. He may have had more interest in dead things than live lately, but he still could aide in the mending of broken bones.

But... he glanced back at the bored Russian.

"Vhat are you going to do for entertainment, Soviet?"

"I'll 'do' my vodka bottle," he responded, cracking a half-assed grin at his attempt to make a joke.

The Nazi noted his joke with annoyance and displeasure. That wasn't particularly funny to him. "Zhat sounds like somezhing zhe American vould say."

"Do not insult Nikolai like that."

There was some silence while Richtofen waited for Nikolai to actually give him useful information as to what he was going to do for the next few hours or so before the horde of zombies regrouped. He tapped his foot impatiently when he realized that the Soviet had no desire to share any spoken words with him. "Vell?"

"Go to hell."

"Hrm. Very vell. I shall return, and I hope for your sake zhat you have come up vith somezhing. Or else... I may just have somezhing for you to do." Richtofen gave a sharp nod in his direction and then continued on his way to the Japanese man, who was deep in slumber and twitching violently.

Nikolai was unconcerned with the slight threat in Richtofen's voice when he had left a while ago. He didn't take orders from Nazis. If he wanted to stay where he was and stare off into space for hours, so be it. Why did it matter if he was busy or not?

He took a swig from his vodka, unaware of how much alcohol he had consumed today. In his opinion, if he was not drunk off his ass, he had not had enough. He drooped a bit more on the railing he was supporting himself on. And his eyelids followed, sliding down over his bloodshot eyes. He was tired...

"Enjoying yourself?" Richtofen whispered in his ear.

Nikolai jumped out of his slumber, not aware that he had even drifted off. Annoyed, he noted how close the Nazi doctor was standing to him. In fact, he could feel the brush of the other man's uniform on his back as he exhaled. He rubbed a dirty hand roughly over his eyes, groaning. His body was stiff. How long had he been out?

"Perhaps you should find somevhere more comfortable," Richtofen suggested lightly and with amusement coloring his voice. He casually laid a hand on the railing next to Nikolai's own.

"Shut up." There was no bite behind it, as Nikolai was too drowsy to care about what the other man was doing. He shifted his weight onto his other leg, his joints creaking in protest. Nikolai felt rather old. He was, was he not? He lifted the bottle that seemed to be glued to his hand to take a drink.

"Takeo appears too injured to fight. We vill need to find some vay to keep him safe once zhe zombies return."

"Nikolai does not give a fuck."

"I figured you vould not." He paused for a moment, awaiting some sort of response from the Russian. When none was received and silence remained upon them, he continued, "Vhat are you planning on doing?"

"Fuck off," he was told promptly.

"You should really zhink about devoting some of your time to somezhing a bit more constructive zhan falling asleep vhile standing up."

"Do you ever shut up?"

"Not until you actually listen to me."

"Not going to happen."

Richtofen opened his mouth once again to badger the other man, but Nikolai suddenly spun around and grabbed a hold of the doctor, helping him close it with his own lips. The Nazi was stunned, frozen in place—but not saying a word.

Nikolai pulled back slightly, furrowing his brow. "Finally you stop talking." He lessened his grip on the other man's arms. He leaned in a little closer to Richtofen, as if he were going to repeat his action, but he caught himself and stepped back. Without another word, he exited the room.

* * *

"Richtofen has been walkin' around in a daze," Tank noted absentmindedly while he and Nikolai sat on the edge of the theater stage, swinging his legs. "Noticed?"

Nikolai tensed at the mention of the doctor. "No, Nikolai has not noticed."

"Wonder what happened."

"I do not care."

Tank gave him a sideways glance. "You never care about nothin'. Just your damn vodka."

"You know me well, Dempsey."

The American grinned. "I do, don't I?" He turned his head back to the front, staring up the aisle between the numerous chairs set up in front of the stage. "I'm goin' to go find the doc. Don't get too drunk."

"Nikolai cannot promise you that."

Tank laughed, jumping down from the stage and taking the path he had just been surveying. The dog tags around his neck jingled merrily with his strides, and he whistled a made-up tune. Vaguely, he heard Nikolai tell him to "stop that shit," but he paid no attention to it.

He had visited Takeo earlier that day to see if the Japanese man was dead or not—if he had been feasted upon by some crawler that had been sneaking around—but he had not been awake to give him a sour, silent look that he usually had in store for the Marine. It was not his fault that Takeo was clumsy...

He rounded a corner and nearly tripped over a sleeping Richtofen when he had been planning on going out to the alleyway to search for the Nazi. He caught himself, peering down at the other man with a slight smirk. So the freak _did _sleep. He would have to go collect his bottle of vodka from Nikolai some time because he won one of the (many) bets he had made with him. They had much free time on their hands.

He squatted down in front of Richtofen between his spread legs and studied his face. He took a moment to realize that if he woke up right now, it would be rather difficult to explain what he was doing. But he did not move from his spot.

While sleeping, the Nazi did not appear so psychopathic and bloodthirsty. He actually looked human from this position. Tank never thought that would be possible, but here the man was, asleep (and probably dreaming of death and destruction) and snoring lightly. The lines on the man's face were not so prominent, and only a small frown tugged at his lips—not his usual angry grimace or twisted, open-mouthed, sadistic smile. Hell, he barely looked as old as he probably was, with the exception of the graying hair that graced his scalp.

It was interesting having time to actually take notice of things, rather than constantly focus on trying to survive hordes upon hordes of the undead. Even if that "thing" happened to be Richtofen's face. For once, Tank was not covered in blood (his own, his teammates', or that of the undead), and he was not frantically counting his ammunition.

His eyes roamed over Richtofen's motionless features once again, and he stopped on the man's pale, thin lips. He wondered for a moment if the man had ever had a woman in his life. He seemed like such a workaholic. Besides the fact that he probably scared off—or killed—anyone who tried to get near to him. Freak.

Tank knew he had had more women than he could count in his earlier days of the Marine Corps. Women found him irresistible, in all of the countries he had ever visited. He was a fine piece of man, if he did say so himself. It is difficult after receiving so much action then that he was suddenly not getting any. He was stuck with three other men in a place full of (obviously male) Nazi zombies. Where the hell were all the women?

He frowned at those pale lips. When was the last time he had kissed anyone? Too long, in his opinion. But Richtofen was not a woman, no matter how high-pitched his voice became when he got excited. Tank had snickered at that when he first met the guy, but after a while he had began thinking of it as a welcome addition. After all, who wants to listen to a deep, manly voice—like that of Nikolai's or Takeo's—when he was so painfully deprived?

He began to act without thinking about it. He leaned forward, resting a hand on the wall that Richtofen was using to sleep on. His lips pressed lightly against the Nazi's own. He became bold rather quickly and pressed a little more, sliding along the curve of his surprisingly soft mouth. His other hand rested upon the doctor's shoulder, and the hand that had been on the wall curled around his neck. He moved into the kneeling position so he had better balance.

The texture of another person's mouth on his own was addicting. He kissed Richtofen like he would have kissed one of the timid women he had encountered in the past, forcing himself not to devour those lips despite how much he felt like it at the moment. He poked his tongue out to wet Richtofen's lips.

Richtofen sharply inhaled.

Tank, who had not realized he had shut his eyes when he became so enveloped in what he was doing to the once sleeping man, snapped his eyes open and found green ones staring straight back at him.

The Nazi found himself stunned for the second time that day. He could feel Tank's saliva drying on his lips. And he hated how they tingled slightly, like they had when Nikolai suddenly decided to kiss him. What the hell was going on with them? Were they under some sort of aphrodisiac?

Tank reared backwards awkwardly, shakily climbing to his feet. He stammered, but no coherent words left his throat.

Richtofen, wordless, watched the Marine while he made a fool of himself. He was not surprised when the other man made a hasty exit from the room, taking the staircase that led to the alleyway.

If Takeo came anywhere near him... Richtofen furrowed his brow, rubbing a finger over his wet lips.

* * *

Tank and Nikolai sat side-by-side in the Pack-a-Punch projection room, involved deeply in their own thoughts. They often found themselves in this sort of position, sitting near each other and sharing stories. They could almost call each other a "friend." Why? They did not know.

Today, instead of happily chattering on about what they missed back home or what weapon they hoped to pick up next, they were silent. Nikolai had been in this condition for a longer time than Tank. And neither knew that they were in that condition because of the same thing. None of them were going to speak up first and discuss what they had done, though.

"Why are you so quiet, American? Usually you will not stop talking," Nikolai inquired, breaking the painful silence.

Tank swallowed a lump in his throat. He knew he could never face the Nazi again after being caught doing that. He just hoped the man would not announce it to everyone else. "Nothin' to talk about." He glanced at Nikolai. "You?"

"Nikolai has nothing to talk about, either."

"Dishonorable liars," a third person muttered behind them.

They both jumped to their feet, taking their weapons with them out of habit. They spun around and realized that Takeo was lounging in a darkened corner, cradling his ribs with the arm that was not broken. His head was down, and his face was shadowed by the bill of his hat.

"How long have you been there, Tak'?" Tank asked, lowering his weapon and cursing his pounding heart. He had become much too paranoid since being put into the war.

"I have been here much longer than the both of you have been."

"I can't believe I didn't even notice."

"I can," Takeo mocked. He winced, shifting into a more comfortable spot on the wall. He groaned, hating being so weak. He was not going anywhere near the clumsy American again after this. He knew better. Or, if he could not help it, he was using one of the other men as a shield. "You two always have an endless assortment of topics to discuss," he continued. "Never will you give your mouths a well-needed break."

"Whatever," Tank grumbled at him, retaking his spot on the ground.

Nikolai shrugged, joining him. They turned their backs on the Japanese soldier.

Takeo lifted his chin to observe them. "Something troubles the both of you."

They did not bother to answer him. He lowered his head again. Ah, well. He was sure that they would get over it. He was not too concerned with what was bothering them. The quietness was a welcome addition, and he intended to enjoy it while it lasted.

* * *

It was late at night when Nikolai decided to crawl out of the pile of dusty curtains he had been resting on. He had a serious urge to urinate, and he unfortunately could not do it right there. This was usually a nighttime routine, and alcohol was mostly what came out. He stumbled across the giant stage, tiredly ascending the staircase that would take him to a room overlooking the outdoors. He nearly fell down the next flight of stairs that led to the alleyway, pushing through a chain link door. He found his preferred spot and undid his trousers, supporting his weight against the wall next to him with one hand. He sighed in relief as he did his business in the corner.

He was droopy-eyed and sober. It was not his favorite combination.

Once he had emptied his bladder onto the ground, he tucked himself away and redid his trousers. Nikolai retraced his steps to find his makeshift bed so he could return to his sleep. Along the way, he bumped into a certain someone he had been avoiding when turning a corner to descend the staircase that led to the stage.

Richtofen blinked at him, appearing slightly fatigued. He wrapped a hand around the banister next to him and gripped it tightly.

Nikolai groaned inwardly. He was not in the mood for this.

"Hello, Nikolai," Richtofen greeted politely. He received a grunt in response.

The Russian rubbed a hand over his eyes, refusing to meet the other man's eyes. He was ashamed for doing what he had done earlier that day, and he just wanted to sleep until they both forgot about it. Or drink vodka until he was too drunk to care. Both seemed favorable to him.

Richtofen took a step towards him. "You have been avoiding me."

Nikolai said nothing. He turned his head to the side and began the process of memorizing the scratches and gashes in the wall.

Another step was taken in his direction, so that Richtofen was right in front of him.

The Russian ignored him.

Richtofen leaned forward and spoke in a whisper, "I don't like it vhen I am ignored."

Nikolai finally looked at the doctor, appearing unfazed by his close proximity.

"You kissed me," the Nazi reminded him. He had had a lot of time to think about what that meant to him.

"Nikolai was drunk," he defended.

"You are alvays drunk." Richtofen smirked. "And if you're alvays drunk, you von't mind if it happens again..."

Nikolai raised an eyebrow.

The Nazi tipped his head back and moved forward onto his toes so he could reach the other man's face. He paused when he was merely inches away from Nikolai's lips. He waited for him to react before he continued. He may have been feeling bold right now, but he was still cautious around the violent drunk.

Nikolai stared, disbelieving of what was happening. He was not sure how to act in this situation. He knew he should push the crazy doctor away and go find his bed, but he was also tempted. What pushed him to make any sort of contact with Richtofen earlier was entering him once again because of the opportunity that has been presented to him.

He raised his arms and tentatively placed them on Richtofen's thin hips. He waited for him to do something in response.

Richtofen was amused at how timid the larger man suddenly seemed. He could feel his hands shaking slightly on his hips. He wondered how much he had to do before the Russian would actually start leading. He rested a hand on Nikolai's shoulder, using it to gain some more height so that he could reach his ear. He whispered, "I know vhat you vant to do. I give you permission."

Nikolai tightened his grip on the bony hips, struggling to make up his mind. Suddenly he was not so sleepy... Finally, his desires won over rational thought, and he pressed Richtofen up against the railing so that his back was arched over it. He leaned over the shorter man and stared down at him, a hungry look in his eyes.

Richtofen merely smirked back at him, waiting. He wrapped his arms around Nikolai's neck so that he would not topple backwards and seriously injure himself. They did not need two incapacitated members of the group.

Nikolai slowly neared the doctor's face. He licked his dry lips and watched as Richtofen echoed his motion. He closed the final distance and pushed his mouth against his. His tongue immediately forced itself inside of Richtofen's mouth and curled around his tongue. One of his hands did what it normally would do in this kind of situation: wander. And because Richtofen lacked breasts, he slid one downwards and cupped a firm buttock, pulling a leg around his waist so that the Nazi was spread wide open to his advances.

Richtofen made a small noise of alarm and wrapped his arms around the muscular neck further. He did not feel particularly safe without both of his feet planted on firm ground.

Nikolai slid his tongue over Richtofen's again and squeezed his backside eagerly. It was obvious to Richtofen that he was getting excited by what they were doing. And he could not help but feel the same. He allowed the Russian to take control and do what he wanted, and that excited him just as much.

Nikolai pushed his groin against Richtofen's suddenly, beginning to thrust in his arousal.

The Nazi let out a small gasp, pulling back from the kiss. A string of saliva connected his lips to Nikolai's, and both of their mouths shined with wetness. He could see by the other man's bright eyes and determination that he was neither drunk nor tired. He licked up the saliva nervously. He was not sure how far he intended to go. Richtofen had not planned to do much more than kissing to get that pleasurable tingle back. His heart was beating wildly in his chest.

Nikolai buried his face in the Nazi doctor's neck, running his tongue over the sweaty flesh. He continued his thrusting, muffling a groan in the pale skin.

Richtofen let out a soft moan, pushing at Nikolai's shoulders to try to get away. He had not planned on this. His groin flooded with pleasure, and it was getting more and more difficult to want to pull away.

The Russian refused to let go of his catch. He held Richtofen's leg firmly around his waist so he could continue rutting uninterruptedly. He closed his eyes, exhaling sharply, his warm breath tickling the other man's neck. The hand that was not keeping Richtofen in place slide dangerously close to the front of his pants, where a noticeable bulge was. It became eager and darted into the Nazi's trousers.

Richtofen's hips arched, and he let out a high-pitched moan, followed by gasps and strangled words as the hand began wonderful motions. He knew right then that he would not let himself get out of this.

Nikolai grinned into his neck.

* * *

Tank unbuttoned his uniform shirt, exposing his sweaty skin to the outside air. A white tank top snugly adorned his chest and defined abdomen. He sighed in relief when a cool breeze swept past him. Damn, it was hot.

He was not sure what happened with Nikolai, but the man was _very_ happy today. He was almost jealous. What the hell was so great that he could just smile and laugh and not have a care in the world? He did not even have his vodka with him...

He crossed his arms, turning his head to look over the fence that led to—whatever was outside of this place. Buildings of gray blocked his view of most of the sky. There was not much to look at. He grew bored quickly of those and paced a little. His weapon was unused, leaning worthlessly against a pile of crates and a lone teddy bear. He was almost beginning to miss the damn freakbags. At least they made this place more exciting. At least he had had something to do.

Soft footsteps sounded behind him, alerting him to the fact that someone was approaching him. He turned in their direction, arching an eyebrow at the Nazi doctor that stopped a couple feet away with his hands laced together behind his back and a wild grin upon his face.

Tank was slightly creeped out by the way he looked at him. Though, that was nothing new.

Richtofen was in just as good of a mood as Nikolai was. He was also feeling brave. And hungry for more of what was given to him last night. He knew just who to get it from—and who he wanted it from.

Tank was wary. Why did it appear as if Richtofen wanted to experiment on him or something? He definitely wanted something. He wondered if he should just run right now and avoid getting hurt. Clearly Richtofen was in the mood for _something_, and knowing him, it could not be a good thing.

He took a few steps backwards, reaching for his weapon at the same time.

Richtofen took a few long strides and snatched his hand away from the weapon. He hooked a foot around the American's ankle and tripped him purposefully, landing heavily atop the startled man. Without waiting for him to speak, he locked their lips together and kissed him eagerly. He was incredibly turned on, and he had plans for Tank.

Tank was the one who was stunned this time. What the hell? What was going on with the doctor? His surprise grew when an engorged piece of flesh was poking him in the pelvis.

Richtofen forced them to roll so that he ended up underneath the American, his hat tumbling off of his head. He laid there while Tank supported himself on his knees and elbows, and he gazed up at him with half-lidded eyes. His lips curled upwards.

Tank was having a difficult time processing what was going on. He was very confused and bewildered by the other man's behavior. He would have gotten up and ran far, far away from there except that when he began to move, Richtofen's hand suddenly became very friendly and cupped his groin.

Tank froze, staring open-mouthed down at the doctor. When the hand became active, helping him to reach an obvious state of arousal, the Nazi was appearing much sexier to Tank, with that devious expression on his face. He settled some of his weight on Richtofen, closing his eyes in pleasure, focusing on the hand that was touching him so intimately. He rocked forward into the hand, biting his bottom lip to keep himself from making noise. It had been so long... There was no way he was going to refuse something like this when it was just given to him.

Richtofen wanted more than that, though, so he removed his hand and laid back again, expectant.

Tank opened his eyes and realized that he was going to have to participate if he wanted more. He awkwardly tried to copy what had been done to him, only on his unexpected partner. He had never touched another man like this before.

Richtofen's hips lifted off the ground, and he moaned, as high-pitched as he always was when he was excited. He was quite the verbal lover. "Dempsey..."

Tank pushed their groins together, deciding that it would be easier if they could both be pleasured at the same time. He was still feeling awkward, but the warmth pooling in his abdomen was helping him react. It felt incredible.

Richtofen slid his hands up Tank's undershirt and traced his abdominal muscles, impressed despite himself. He wrapped his arms around his back, delighting in the warmth that seeped through his clothing from Tank's body once he had pulled him flush against him on the ground. He wanted more than what Tank was giving him because he had become very familiar with all of this last night with Nikolai. He was very willing to go farther.

His hands dived between them and struggled to undo both of their trousers.

Tank met his eyes, a look of astonishment on his face. He could not believe what was happening.

Richtofen leaned upwards and licked his neck in an almost soothing manner, speaking softly into his skin, "Relax, Dempsey. It vill feel amazing..."

He was able to release both of them and, after coating his own hand with saliva, he gripped the both of them in one loose fist. His upwards and downwards motions started slow so that he could watch Tank's face contort with ecstasy. He could tell that the American had been craving this for a long time.

He soon quickened his motions when he needed more, unable to stop himself when he gasped out and moaned loudly. The feeling of Tank pressed against him was overwhelming, and he cried out in a voice that the American found himself enjoying.

Tank swatted Richtofen's hand away from where their bare flesh was touching and took over. He captured the Nazi's lips, cutting off a strangled, "Demp—!"

* * *

Takeo did not know why his teammates appeared so damn happy. He glowered at the grinning men as they played a card game. His leg was in a cast, and his arm was in a sling. He had multiple cracked ribs. What was so great? Maybe Nikolai discovered some kind of stash of drugs. If that was the case, he really needed some.

"Hey, Tak', why so down?" Tank called over to him obnoxiously.

He picked up the nearest empty bottle of vodka with his non-injured arm and chucked it at him. Unfortunately, since it was his weak arm, it missed completely and shattered somewhere behind his teammates, startling them. He still had five more tries, though. He dared them to say another word; _he_ was the happy one when they stopped smiling.


End file.
